Be Well Tried
by lembas7
Summary: True friendship is a plant of slow growth, and must undergo and withstand the shocks of adversity before it is entitled to the appellation. Year Four and the Triwizard Tournament, in a world where Voldemort has risen. ECverse, sequel to IvB
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** The characters, world and premise of Harry Potter belong to JKR. Sections of Goblet of Fire are lifted directly from the text and reproduced throughout this work for verisimilitude; they are not mine. Also, the characters and premise of the Chronicles of Narnia are the property of CS Lewis. As ever, my interpretations are my own.

**A/N:** Sequel to _Ireland vs. Bulgaria_, in the EC universe and on my profile. You might want to be familiar with that, though I applaud anyone who gives it a go on their own; however, I can almost guarantee it will be a tad confusing. Is concurrent with _Sticks And Stones_ and _To Question Why_.

* * *

"Be courteous with all, but intimate with few, and let those few be well tried before you give them your confidence. True friendship is a plant of slow growth, and must undergo and withstand the shocks of adversity before it is entitled to the appellation."

~ George Washington, 1732-1799.

* * *

**BE WELL TRIED**

"- can't justify taking more time off at the moment." Percy, straightening his robes and at his most pompous. Ron groaned loudly. _Oh, come on! It's not going to take that long to see us off. He's already late._ "Mr. Crouch is really starting to rely on me."

"Yeah, you know what, Percy?" said George seriously. "I reckon he'll know your name soon."

Ron sniggered. Pain burst against one ankle. "Ow!"

Hermione, standing beside him with her own trunk, glared and hissed, "Ron, be nice! You're not going to see him all year!"

"You didn't have to kick me!"

The look she shot him said clearly: _Yes, I did._

"Bye, Percy!"

Smoothing his hair, their brother stooped to give Ginny a kiss, and waved vaguely, "Have a good year, everyone," before the door slammed shut. After a month of his Apparating downstairs for breakfast every morning, Mum said it was rude to Apparate in the house unless the weather was bad. _It'll be raining by the time we get to Hogsmeade, Floo or not._

"I might be seeing you all sooner than you think," said Charlie. The second-oldest was trying to push through the lot of them toward a pile of sandwiches on the table.

"Why?" Fred's eyes had a keen gleam in them. George leant over his own trunk, upended to let them all fit by the fireplace. The Burrow's kitchen was filled with the twins, Ron, Harry and Hermione, with Ginny and Mum crowded by the hearth. Bill had already said his goodbyes and was watching the chaos with a smile as Charlie waded through all them.

Words were muffled by bread thickly layered with cheese and ham. "You'll see. Just don't tell Percy I mentioned it. . . it's 'classified information, until such time as the Ministry sees fit to release it', after all."

"Yeah, I sort of wish I were back at Hogwarts this year." Bill's hands were stuffed in his pockets as he balanced his rickety chair back on two legs.

"_Why?_" George almost growled with impatience.

"You're going to have an interesting year," said Bill, blue eyes twinkling. _It must be because he's oldest._ None of his other brothers loved to tease as much as Bill. _Or maybe none of them are as good at it as he is._ He'd had so much longer to practice. "I might even get time off to come and watch a bit of it. . ."

Ron couldn't keep quiet any longer. "A bit of _what_?"

"Oh, I do wish your father was here." Mum straightened her cloak, peering anxiously out at the darkening sky.

Bill mimed zipping his lips; Ron wasn't surprised to see Fred and George back him up as he leveled a scorching glare at their oldest brother.

"Where is Mr. Weasley?" Hermione hadn't been up when Dad had had to leave.

"He got called in to the Ministry," George overheard her question.

"Yeah," Ginny chimed in. "Mad-Eye Moody – he's an old friend of Dad's – had some magical dustbins go off, thought there was an intruder or something at his house, and the please-men -"

"Policemen," Hermione's correction was automatic.

"Whatever – Dad had to go help him out, get him off on a minor charge or something or he would have really gotten into trouble with the Improper Use of Magic Office."

_Girls and gossip. They care about the stupidest things._ But if he said that, Hermione really would hurt him. And then she'd start telling him _why_ it was important, and a load of other stuff that had nothing to do with anything. Ron peered at the jar of Floo Powder instead. _I wonder if we've got enough?_

"Magical dustbins? 'Go off'?" Hermione poked gently for more details, the same way he would poke at food that had been in the twins' company.

"Exploded, didn't they?" Ron eyed the sandwiches for a minute, caught Fred carefully watching Bill out of the corner of his eye. _Naah._

Alarm splashed over Hermione's face. "Isn't that dangerous? Someone could've been hurt! Why wouldn't the Ministry cite him -"

"Moody was a great wizard in his day," Bill shrugged.

Fred looked disappointed. Ron felt his eyes go round. _Wonder what was supposed to happen._

Bill thumbed his nose at Fred, quick before Mum could see. George hissed in disappointment.

_Second thought, I don't want to know._ Mum had raised the ban on Weasley's Wizard Wheezes after the spell the twins had developed had kept everyone safe at the Cup, with the condition that no more food was tampered with. _But I know Fred and George._

No Weasley would ever take candy from strangers. Or from family. _When there are people like Fred and George out there, better safe than sorry!_

"Yeah," Charlie added, managing to slip past the twins and around the overflowing sink. Circling the table, he yanked out a chair next to Bill. "He's retired, used to work at the Ministry. He was an Auror, one of the best," Charlie saw Hermione blink, and explained. "Half the cells in Azkaban are full because of him. He made himself loads of enemies, though . . . the families of people he caught, mainly . . . and I heard he's been getting really paranoid in his old age. Doesn't trust anyone anymore. Sees Dark wizards everywhere."

_Freaky._ Ron shivered. _Maybe he's got the right idea, though. No one knew there were Dark wizards around at all anymore, until the Cup._

"But laws are there for a reason -" Still, Hermione looked unsure.

"This happens a lot," Bill grinned at her. "Don't worry, Hermione, it'll get noted and logged and Percy will hear about it too, probably. It's just that Moody's done so much for the Wizarding world – especially in the first war against You-Know-Who -"

The whole room flinched.

"- that he doesn't deserve the Ministry runaround on this," his oldest brother's voice was noticeably quieter.

"Well," Mum jumped into the silence, pulling the lid off the fat jar of Floo Powder. It was a nasty greenish color – Charlie had made the jar years ago and it'd been used for the Powder ever since. "It's almost time; everyone will be expecting us. Hermione?"

_"Pevensie Mansion!"_

Multiple flares of green light later, it was only Ron, Fred, and Charlie in the kitchen.

He pounced. "What's going on?"

Charlie grinned. "You'll find out later, Ron."

"Oh, come on!"

Charlie just held out the jar.

Sandy powder slipped against his skin; Ron snarled into the flames. _"Pevensie Mansion!"_

Picked up and whirled past the chimneys, he got a good shock against his funny bone for forgetting to tuck in his elbows, wrestling his trunk. "Ow!"

Then he was shooting over slick marble, unable to stop – _Gonna hurt when I hit –_

Softness, in all colors of the rainbow. He lifted his face out of fabric, feeling a flood of happiness that he hadn't slammed against something harder. _Cushions?_

"Alright there, Ron?"

"Hey, Harry." Shaking stinging fingers, Ron grinned at his best friend. "Forgot to keep my arms in."

"Better move before Fred and Charlie run you over," Hermione suggested. She was standing with her trunk off to the side, next to Ginny and Mum. The Pevensies, Mr. Black, and Professor Lupin all were talking quietly next to a row of trunks just behind them. _That's . . . a lot of people. Sixteen? Wow._

"Yeah." Ron had used Floos loads of times, but never a Central Floo Station; whenever they'd had to travel that far, Mum and Dad had usually arranged something else. And most of the time all the Weasleys didn't all go together anywhere. _Just too many people._

Charlie came through with Pigwidgeon's cage, the little bird coughing and hooting from the soot. _Knew I should have covered him._ He'd tried to drag out his awful dress robes to do it, but Mum had glared and told him to pack them right back up again.

"Everyone ready?" Professor Lupin stepped forward, addressing the crowd.

_Ready as we'll ever be._

"The Floo's marked Hogsmeade Station," Lupin continued. "We'll get a few adults there first, and then all the students, and then the rest of the grown-ups. Sirius?"

With a wink at Harry, Mr. Black stepped forward, reaching for the jar of Floo Powder sitting on the Pevensies' mantle. _"Hogsmeade Station!"_

Fire roared up, and he was gone.

"So, Harry, d'you know what's going on at Hogwarts this year?" Ron kept his voice down.

Green eyes stared, puzzled. "What d'you mean, Ron?"

"There's something up, Bill and Charlie and Mum were all on about it, but they wouldn't tell us what's going on. Something's happening at Hogwarts this year. Something _big._" Two of the Pevensies were gone, the twins in line next. Ron dragged his trunk forward a bit.

"Wow," Harry frowned. "Sirius and Remus didn't say anything. I know Peter got a letter this summer from Dumbledore, but he didn't say anything either."

_A letter! _"I bet that's it!"

"Oh, honestly, you two," Hermione rolled her eyes. "Mrs. Weasley -" Mum disappeared into the Floo just at that moment, leaving Harry, Hermione, and Ron with Edmund and Lucy Pevensie at the back of the line. "- Mrs. Weasley said we'll probably find out at the Feast tonight. Why can't you wait?"

Ginny stepped into the flames, shouting their destination.

"I'll bet it's something _huge_, if Charlie was on about it too," Ron ignored her. _Hermione's always like that. I bet we could find out before, get them to let something slip._ "He always undertalks everything. He got burned by a dragon really awful, once, and couldn't move for days, and just told us that it was like a bad sunburn. Unbelievable."

Hermione disappeared into the Floo as Harry shrugged. "Your turn," he said.

_"Hogsmeade Station!"_

_Ugh. Now I know why people don't use the Floo a bunch of times all at once._ Ron's head had only just finished spinning from the first trip; his stomach groaned unhappily. _Maybe I shouldn't've eaten so much lunch. . . _

"Up you come." Calloused hands gripped him gently, and Ron blinked through shifting vision to find himself on his feet.

"Thanks, Mr. Black."

Harry's godfather – who Ron still didn't really know – just smiled. "Call me Sirius, Ron. You all right?"

_Now that my lunch isn't going anywhere –_ "Yeah." His school robes had two layers of soot on them. _Oh, just great. What a mess. What was that cleaning charm again?_

"Your Mum's just over there."

Three more flashes of fire later, Harry and the last two Pevensies had arrived and Mum's quick spell had put all of them to rights. _Thank Merlin for that!_ He wasn't going to put up with any of Malfoy's crap this year, and no _way_ was he going to give the prat a reason to start up on the first day.

"Thanks for having me to stay, Mrs. Weasley," said Hermione as they headed toward the doors outside the Floo Station, where the Hogwarts Express was pulling up through lashing rain. _Gah – we're going to get soaked!_

"Oh, it was my pleasure, dear," Mum smiled. "I'd invite you for Christmas, but . . . well, I expect you're all going to want to stay at Hogwarts, what with . . . one thing and another."

Harry blinked, confused.

Ron gave him a significant look. _There! See what I'm talking about?_ "Mum! What d'you lot know that we don't?"

Mum reached out to reorder his hair; Ron jerked back just in time. _"Mu-um!"_

"You'll find out this evening, I expect. It's going to be very exciting – mind you, I'm very glad they've changed the rules -"

"What rules?" Even Harry chimed in, though from the way the Pevensies were standing and the expressions on Sirius' and Professor Lupin's faces, Ron knew that this was the first Harry'd heard of _anything_ happening at Hogwarts.

"I'm sure Professor Dumbledore will tell you . . . .Now behave, won't you? _Won't_ you, Fred? And you, George?" Pleading morphed to the kind of stubborn fear he'd seen on his Mum nearly every day since the World Cup. _Since we found out that You-Know-Who_ – "And you _will_ be careful, won't you?"

"Tell us what's happening at Hogwarts," George pleaded instead, trying to make her smile.

Fred finished his twin's thought. "What rules are they changing?"

But Mum only sighed and gathered them all into a big hug. Ron could see Harry getting similar treatment from Sirius off to the side. "I love you," she sniffed. "Don't do anything foolish, and be _careful!_"

* * *

A gigantic silhouette at the far end was all he could make out as they left the shelter of the Central Floo Station for the train platform. "Hi, Hagrid!"

"All righ', Harry?" Hagrid bellowed back, waving. "See yeh at the feast if we don' drown!"

Harry grinned, turning a minute; Sirius had followed them out to the platform.

They were all soaked already, and the older Weasleys had already left, but his godfather was still there. Sirius gave him another hug. "You have everything? Trunk, Hogsmeade permission form?"

Harry nodded.

"Have a good year. I'll be writing you regularly, so if you have the time -"

"Yeah," Harry grinned eagerly, pushing wet bangs off his face.

"You know that you can go to Remus, Peter or Edmund right away if you need to," Sirius kept his voice soft. They sheltered under a slight overhang as first-years pushed by. "If you need me for anything, just contact me. Write, or Fire-call; Remus will let you use his office's. It might take me a little while, but I'll be there. I promise."

Something warm and a little scary swelled in his throat at that, coming from a place deep in his body. "Okay," Harry nodded a little. _Nobody's ever. . . _

"And let me know when some of the Hogsmeade weekends are. If you like, I'd enjoy coming out and treating you to lunch, and your friends too if they want to come. Unless, of course, you'd rather not -" Sounding a bit awkward for the first time, Sirius' eyes were unsure.

Harry didn't like the look; he pushed away the tiny voice inside whispering to stay clear, and grabbed Sirius in a hug. "That sounds great!" It sounded perfect.

A hand came down and ruffled his hair again; the other arm returned his embrace. Sirius was smiling when Harry stepped away, the smile that always made Harry want to grin back. "Go on, then, you have a carriage to catch. I'll see you soon."

"Bye, Sirius!"

Ron and Hermione had waited a little ways away, and they didn't say anything when he came up to them. A glance back showed Sirius pulling out his wand, and he waved and waited for Harry to go out of sight.

"Ooh, I wouldn't fancy crossing the lake in this weather," Hermione shivered. They were at the end of the crowd inching along the dark platform. Half of the carriages had pulled away.

"Come on!" Ron yanked a door to one open, jumping inside the carriage. Harry followed, Hermione and Neville rushing behind him to get out of the driving rain.

_Snap!_

Neville tugged at his cloak, but it was caught under the now-closed door. All four braced themselves, memories of prior trips preparing them for an abrupt jerk as the carriage began to move through the rain, toward the school. Glass was cool against his forehead as Harry's head rested against the window.

_Hogwarts._

They were through the gates, statues of winged boars gleaming wetly in the light from the castle. The seat under him rocked; Neville chewed his bottom lip as the wind kicked even higher. The castle came nearer, lights from the windows blurred and shimmering through water-spattered glass.

_Almost there._

Harry could see students holding robes over their heads, trying to shield themselves from the driving rain. Figures scampered from the carriages up a flight of stone steps to the great oak front doors.

"Ready?" Hermione looked unhappily at the rain as the carriage lurched to a stop.

"No." Neville tugged his cloak, futilely trying to pull it free.

"Here we go," Ron muttered, flinching back as water spattered the glass in front of his face.

_Ahhh. . . ._ Wetness slicked down the back of Harry's neck as he grabbed Neville's arm; the other boy had almost fallen, tripping on his cloak coming out of the carriage. Hermione caught Neville up on the other side as the four of them dashed up the steps into the torch-lit entrance hall.

"Blimey." Water stung Harry's face as Ron shook his head, sending water everywhere. His best friend huffed. "If that keeps up, the lake's going to overflow. I'm soak – ARRGH!"

_Splat!_

More water – what the –

Red rubber speckled soaked orange hair; Ron staggered into Harry. Swooping motion from the ceiling – _Watch it!_

A second water balloon somehow managed to miss them. Almost in slow-motion, Harry watched it explode, jumping as a wave of water rolled over his sneakers and saturated both socks. _Yow! Cold! _Anger flared. _Who –_

_Oh, no._

A floating and ghostly little man, with bright orange bowtie and a hat covered in bells, cackling madly twenty feet up. Concentration covered the wide, malicious face as he took aim again. Someone behind Harry shrieked; everyone was pushing to get out of the line of fire.

"PEEVES!" yelled an angry voice. "Peeves, come down here at ONCE!" Professor McGonagall shot around the corner, dashing into the Great Gall. The Deputy Headmistress and Head of Gryffindor House slipped on the slick floor, shooting out an arm and grabbing Hermione by the neck to keep from falling.

_Ow!_ Harry winced; that looked like it _hurt._

"Ouch – sorry, Miss Granger -"

"That's all right, Professor." Hermione's voice was a rasp. One hand went to her red throat.

"Peeves, get down here NOW!" Professor McGonagall straightened her pointed hat and square-rimmed spectacles, glaring up at the poltergeist.

Harry reached for a sopping swathe of cloth – his robes felt like they'd gained ten kilos. _Let's get out of here. . ._ Being in the middle of a conflict between the formidable Deputy Headmistress and the castle's notorious poltergeist was definitely _not_ where he wanted to be; but the ground between them and the doors to the Great Hall had Peeves malingering in the air above.

"Not doing nothing! Already wet, aren't they?" Another water bomb almost didn't miss a group of shrieking fifth-year girls. "Little squirts! Wheeeeeeeeee!"

A steady stream of water poured from twisted cloth as Harry wrung it out. Green eyes stayed cautiously fixed on the poltergeist.

"I shall call the Headmaster! I'm warning you, Peeves -"

Peeves stuck out his tongue, lobbing the last of the water balloons into the air as he zoomed off up the marble staircase. Insane cackling howls echoed back to them.

"Well, move along then! Into the Great Hall, come on!" Professor McGonagall snapped to the bedraggled crowd.

"Can't _believe_ this – completely soaked, arrgggh, _Peeves_ -" Ron muttered.

_Falling!_ Harry grabbed Ron's arm to keep from ending up on his butt on the stone; Ron slipped, and snagged Hermione by the back of her robes. By some miracle, they managed not to end up in a pile on muddy marble.

The Great Hall was brighter than the corridor outside it, lit from hundreds of hovering candles glinting off gold plates and goblets. _Warmer, too._ Harry squeezed out two fistfuls of black cloth as they squelched past the Slytherins, Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs to the Gryffindor table at the far end.

"Good evening," Nearly Headless Nick beamed as they slipped up to the solid bench.

_Hah!_ "Says who?" Harry yanked off a sneaker, holding it by the toe. His jaw dropped as water streamed from it.

Hermione already had her wand out, muttering a quick spell that left her dry, if still rumpled. Her hair had bushed out to twice its normal size.

A gurgling rumble caught his attention. "Hope they hurry up with the Sorting." Harry cast a pleading look Hermione's way; her eyes rolled, but she was smiling as she turned the Drying Charm on him and Ron. "I'm hungry."

"Me too," Ron nodded. They'd both eaten an hour before Flooing, but that had been _ages _ago.

"Hiya, Harry!"

It was Colin Creevey. _Oh, boy._

"Hi, Colin," said Harry warily.

"Harry, guess what? Guess what, Harry? My brother's starting! My brother Dennis!"

"Er – good." Harry looked back at the dais where the Sorting Hat waited, hoping Colin would get the hint. The third-year thought he was something of a hero, and it was always strange talking to him.

"He's really excited!" Colin was practically bouncing up and down in his seat, rattling all the cups and dishes on the table near him. "I just hope he's in Gryffindor! Keep your fingers crossed, eh, Harry?"

Harry swallowed thickly. "Er – yeah, all right." _I wonder . . . _He turned to Hermione, Ron, and Sir Nick. "Brothers and sisters usually go in the same houses, don't they?" _All Ron's family's in Gryffindor._

"Not necessarily," Hermione was struggling to tie her hair back. "Parvati Patil's twin's in Ravenclaw, and they're identical. You'd think they'd be together, wouldn't you?"

"Guess so," Harry shrugged. "Weird."

"Hey, Lupin's here," Ron nudged him, pointing to the staff table.

"And the Pevensies too," Hermione said warmly. She'd been wary of them at first, but after awhile had grown to like them. Harry was glad; they were the nicest people he'd ever met. "They're not wet. Did they take the carriages?"

"Dunno." _Wow, the staff table looks really full this year._ Hagrid was missing, of course, probably still fighting his way across the lake with the first years. Professor McGonagall was gone too, presumably overseeing the drying of the entrance hall floor.

"Who's that guy?" Ron blinked up at the table.

Harry looked.

The Pevensies were scattered in with the teachers, Susan sitting next to Snape at the end with Edmund on the Potion's professor's other side. Then Professors Sprout and Flitwick, with a new man that Harry had never seen sitting between the Charms Professor and the Headmaster.

_No robes. _"Is he a Muggle too?" Harry stared, making out straight brown hair and a serene face.

"I think so." Hermione looked interested. "I wonder why they've been bringing so many Muggles into Hogwarts recently." Her voice hushed, brown eyes darting to make sure no one else could hear. "Do you think it has anything to do with -"

"No," Ron said, too quickly. "Why would it? It's probably just something with the Ministry, or the School Governors."

But twinkling blue eyes and a long white beard caught Harry's attention. "Or Dumbledore."

The Headmaster's sweeping silver hair gleamed brightly against magnificent, deep green robes embroidered with many stars and moons. The tips of his long, thin fingers were pressed together and he was resting his chin upon them, staring up at the ceiling through his half-moon spectacles as if lost in thought. Harry glanced up at the enchanted ceiling too –

_Ugh. I don't think I've ever seen it that stormy._ Purple-black clouds loomed just under the arching stone of the Great Hall's ceiling, and lightning flashed over their heads as thunder sounded outside.

"Oh, hurry up." Ron rubbed his stomach, casting a pleading glance toward the doors of the Great Hall. "I could eat a -"

Oak slid soundlessly forward; the Great Hall went quiet, but there was a thrumming of expectation in the air. Harry glanced around; every eye was on McGonagall leading a long line of first years up to the top of the Hall.

_They look like they all went swimming in the lake._ It was true; and most were shivering, either from nerves or chill, as they came to a halt in front of the rest of the school.

Except the littlest of the lot, a boy with mousy hair wrapped in Hagrid's mole-skin greatcoat. _'I fell in the lake!'_ the boy mouthed, flashing a double thumbs-up at the Gryffindor table; at Colin Creevey, Harry saw. _I guess that's his brother._

Then the Hat began to sing.

_A thousand years and more ago,_

_When I was newly sewn_

_There lived four wizards of renown,_

_Whose names are still well known:_

_Bold Gryffindor, from wild moor,_

_Fair Ravenclaw, from glen,_

_Sweet Hufflepuff, from valley broad,_

_Shrewd Slytherin, from fen._

_They shared a wish, a hope, a dream,_

_They hatched a daring plan_

_To educate young sorcerers_

_Thus Hogwarts School began._

_Now each of these four founders_

_Formed their own house, but each_

_Knew Hogwarts School of Wizardry_

_Had something great to teach._

_By Gryffindor, the bravest were_

_Prized far beyond the rest;_

_For Ravenclaw the cleverest_

_Would always be the best;_

_For Hufflepuff, hard workers were_

_Most worthy of admission;_

_And power-hungry Slytherin_

_Loved those of great ambition._

_So different, they might seem to_

_You, but it was not so -_

_Together they would always stand,_

_Thus stronger we shall grow. _

_For in dark times we will have need_

_Of such diversity; _

_The Founders' magic, ages old,_

_Shall set all of us free. _

_Now slip me snug about your ears,_

_I've never yet been wrong,_

_I'll have a look inside your mind_

_And tell where you belong!_

* * *

_What was that?_ Hermione looked around nervously. Bewildered green and blue met her eyes as applause began to sound through the Great Hall. No one else seemed to be paying too much attention to the hidden words of the song. _Then again, no one else knows what we know._

"That's not the song it sang when it Sorted us," Harry sounded definite. _Well, of course it's not – oh, right. Harry doesn't know._ This was the first Sorting he'd been to since theirs, three years ago.

"Sings a different one every year," Ron was staring, dazed, up at the dais. "I mean, it's got to be a pretty boring life, hasn't it, being a hat? I suppose it spends all year making up the next one."

"Which doesn't explain how it knows – what it knows," Hermione hissed back, as the McGonagall began to speak. _Darkness? Founders' magic?_ The last few years, the Hat's song had always been just about the Sorting. _How does it know? More important, _what_ does it know?_

"Ackerly, Stewart!"

The boy looked like he was about to faint; all the poor first-years were definitely more frightened than they had been before. He trembled up the two steps to the stool, picking up the Hat in shaking hands.

"RAVENCLAW!"

Hermione followed the boy's progress to the blue-draped table, catching Harry staring too.

"Baddock, Malcom!"

"SLYTHERIN!"

The green table on the other side of the hall erupted as the Slytherins cheered their newest. Malfoy was clapping; Hermione frowned as she caught Fred and George hissing Malcolm as he sat. _After the Hat just got done singing about unity and standing together. Boys._

"Cauldwell, Owen!"

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

A smile on the newest man's – professor's? – face at the staff table. _What, does he know him?_

"Creevey, Dennis!"

"GRYFFINDOR!" the Hat shouted. _Colin's little brother made it in then. First Gryffindor!_ Hermione clapped loudly as the small boy hurried over to his brother.

"Colin, I fell in!" he said shrilly, throwing himself into an empty seat. "It was brilliant! And then something in the water grabbed me and pushed me back in the boat!"

"Cool! It was probably the giant squid, Dennis!"

_Typical._ Hermione shook her head, glancing back at the dais in time to see Emma Dobbs get Sorted into Ravenclaw.

But the Sorting seemed to go quickly after that; Hermione glanced back at Harry and Ron. "How d'you think the Hat knows about - You-Know-What?"

Ron went pale under his freckles. "Hermione -"

"McDonald, Natalie!"

"GRYFFINDOR!"

"It sits on a shelf in Dumbledore's office," Harry leant across the table, words almost lost to the cheering of the rest of the Gryffindors as a dark-haired girl came their way. "I saw it, second year."

"Well that would explain it," Hermione frowned a little.

"Explain what?" Ron snapped.

"Pritchard, Graham!"

"SLYTHERIN!"

"Dumbledore was supposed to be really involved in movements against You-Know-Who in the first war." She glanced at them; Ron sighed.

"Well, of course he -"

"Quirke, Orla!"

"RAVENCLAW!"

"- of course he was," Ron finished as the Ravenclaws' cheering died down enough for words to find their destination.

Harry looked like he was about to say something.

"Whitby, Kevin!"

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

"About time," Ron seized his knife and fork, glancing impatience up at the staff table. _Wait a minute -_

All students were seated, but McGonagall didn't move the stool and Hat from the dais. Looking expectantly at his golden plate, Ron didn't notice, but Harry did. "What's going on?"

"Shhh!" Hermione turned her eyes pointedly toward the teachers.

The Headmaster was standing, patiently waiting for all attention to turn his way. "Welcome, everyone, to the start of another year. Before we continue with Sorting, I'd like to introduce our new History of Magic instructor, Professor Stanton."

_Continue with Sorting? But there aren't any first years left._

At his side, the man stood to a scattering of applause. _No wizard robes, all Muggle clothes – is he a Muggle then?_ The first years from Wizarding families were whispering, but the rest of the school seemed to take this in stride. _After all, the Pevensies were here last year._

"He is a Muggle, as are our returning guests. You all know Peter, Lucy and Edmund; I'd like to introduce you to Susan Pevensie, lately returned from America."

The professor was seated and a dark-haired woman next to Snape rose. Dumbledore could be heard clearly throughout the Hall. "If all the Pevensies would stand before the Hat, please."

_But why would he want to –_

"Pevensie, Edmund!"

Dark hair disappeared under the Sorting Hat's brim, but it didn't fall over his face. Hermione shivered at the blank expression that took up residence on familiar features. _What's going –_

"SLYTHERIN!"

"No way!" Harry gaped.

Thunderous cheering made Hermione stare. _But – he's a Muggle! Slytherins hate –_ except she was hearing strong evidence that they didn't. Even Draco Malfoy was clapping. Hermione rubbed disbelieving eyes, but the strange sight didn't change.

"Pevensie, Lucy!"

She walked to the Hat with the same confidence as Edmund, and more eagerness. Tattered cloth traded hands before Edmund stepped next to his brother, mouth moving, words lost to the cheers.

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

The yellow-bedecked table disappeared in an explosion of clapping.

Bounding up, Lucy left the Hat on the stool and moved to Susan Pevensie's side.

"Pevensie, Peter!"

The hat barely touched gold strands before shouting out, "GRYFFINDOR!"

As the cheering from her own House quieted down, Dumbledore raised his voice one last time. "Pevensie, Susan!"

"RAVENCLAW!"

* * *

_What's he up to?_ Dumbledore might be a doddering codger, but the wizard was cagey. Draco had learned last year that the old man didn't do anything without a good reason.

"Well," the Headmaster twinkled out at the school as the blue-and-bronze table's cheering died away. "The Pevensies agreed to be Sorted to provide each House with a Muggle advisor. They will take the evening meal at their respective House tables each day, and all students may feel free to speak with them on any subject. Now that we've gotten that out of the way, I have only two words to say to you. _Tuck in!_"

"Hear, hear!" Potter and Weasley, from across the hall.

Draco sniffed as the plates filled. _Idiots._

Mashed potatoes, steak, corn, and loads of other fantastic foods; maybe Potter and Weasley _did_ have a point. _A little one. _He hadn't eaten this well all summer.

Shifting, on the bench at his side.

"Mind if I sit here?"

Not a request, and no Slytherin would mistake it for one. Draco looked up, keeping relief off his face. _Edmund._

"If you must," he let the requisite sneer fade into a smile, there and gone too quickly for anyone else to see. Draco moved grudgingly over.

Dark eyes weren't fooled. "How was your summer?"

_Hell. _After the disaster at the Cup, Draco'd made the mistake of running afoul of his father. Once. The bruises were yellowing, but he'd kept to his room after that, his trunk packed and waiting a whole week for the Hogwarts Express. "Fine."

"You're a Muggle." Malcom Baddock, one of their newest. Draco snorted, quietly. _That's what you think._ The brat could learn about _Aegis Sanguinis_ on his own.

Edmund neatly snatched a piece of bread almost from the first-year's grasp. "And you're a wizard. Welcome to Hogwarts, Mr. Baddock."

A drifting, silvery form stole whatever response was brewing behind the first-year's glowering features, turned it to fear. "Who's that?"

Draco dug his fork into a bite of salad, ignoring the boy.

"The Bloody Baron," Edmund's voice was soothing; or at least, as soothing as Slytherin pride would allow. "He's the Slytherin ghost. Don't be bothered by how he looks, he keeps Peeves in line." The man's voice was a bit dark at mention of the poltergeist.

A glance over the casserole dish full of vegetables revealed Edmund's scrutiny to Draco. Concern flowed toward him; Draco tried to send a message without changing his expression. _I need to talk to you._

Tensing of fingers wielding fork over plate with the same skill that kept perfect control of a broadsword. _I know,_ written in the tiny nod and set jaw.

It was all that kept Draco's mind on his food and off this summer, and his –

_No. Talk to Edmund. He'll know what to do._

Another voice inside, his voice of caution, was just as loud. _But if you fail – if you don't – _

_Stop it. Just breathe._

The potion; he would think of the potion. He had all the ingredients assembled in his trunk, every painstaking note secreted away in textbooks and new rolls of parchment, waiting for tonight.

_I can start on Snape's potions cabinets as soon as the feast is over. _Waiting until first class would be foolish, tipping off the Potions Master to possible culprits. _And robbing me of a week's worth of work._

Food vanished off the plate he hadn't touched for a good five minutes, replacing platters of meats and vegetables with sweets. Treacle tart, chocolate gateau, pies and puddings . . . Draco's appetite had Disapparated.

_Cr-ack! _

_Boom!_

Glass shook in the window-frames with the force of the storm. _Bloody miserable weather. I'm still damp from running through the storm._

He avoided Edmund's gaze, knowing from the words passing through the air over the table that it wouldn't be hard; his housemates were testing the 'Muggle' a good many of them had never met, though he'd been at Hogwarts all last year. And they were quickly finding out something Draco had long since accepted. Edmund was _sharp._

When the last crumbs faded, leaving golden plates sparkling clean, motion from the staff table caught Draco's eye.

Albus Dumbledore was standing, smiling out at them. "So! Now that we are all fed and watered, I must once more ask for your attention, while I give out a few notices. Mr. Filch -"

Draco stopped listening. _Edmund knows._ The thought brought no comfort. Voldemort was back, and nothing would be all right ever again.

Dumbledore was still talking, "- remind you all that the Forest on the grounds is out-of-bounds to all students, as is the village of Hogsmeade to all below third year. It is also -"

_Ba-boom!_

_BANG!_

The doors to the Great Hall slammed wide as thunder shook the air; Draco's hand was on his wand, panic setting his gut afire. _It's –_

But no.

The figure shadowed on the threshold was far too short, though Draco had never seen the Lord his father bowed to. _And if Voldemort _was_ here, he wouldn't just –_

_Clunk._

The hood lowered as the figure stepped forward. A gray mane was revealed; the wizard leant upon his long staff. Draco stared. _His – his _face!

It seemed almost carved from wood, by someone with no skill in the craft. His mouth was a gash, and scars rippled over harshly weathered skin. A chunk was missing from the wizard's nose, and his _eye –_

Neon blue, large as a coin and rolling around in his skull. Draco wasn't foolish enough to even try to meet the man's gaze. _Don't look. Don't stare._ He knew he looked enough like Father to attract _this_ man's attention, even if he'd only heard him mentioned. Who else could it be? _Mad-Eye Moody. What's he doing here?_

Limping on every other step, the retired Auror had reached the head table.

Movement, in the corner of his eye. _Edmund?_

Each of the Pevensies was moving, he could see. Unobtrusively, not drawing any attention as every eye was fixed on the wizard who had now extending a hand to greet Dumbledore. In the deathly silence, Moody's every word rang clear.

"Headmaster."

"Alastor." A frown worked its way across Dumbledore's features.

Bay was solid in his grasp, reassuring. _He didn't expect Moody. What's going on, here?_

"I bring a message from the Ministry."

_And you didn't owl it?_ If it was important enough to need a human – _armed_ – messenger, why announce it in a hall full of students, all of whom would gossip or write home about it? The first-year Slytherins were already mumbling to each other. _Something's not right._

"Ah, thank you, Alastor," Dumbledore smiled, and Draco caught twinkling blue scanning the entire room. Tense on his bench, he waited with Slytherin patience. The Pevensies were suddenly _there_, approaching the staff table.

Moody stiffened.

"Alastor. I'd like you to meet the Pevensie siblings. Muggles, here to assist in the Muggle Studies Program."

The rolling, insane eye twisted in its socket, inspecting the four at lightning speed. Draco saw it happen then; the assessment, the write-off. _He thinks that just because they're Muggles, they're harmless._

That didn't sound like the paranoid Auror Father grumbled about occasionally.

"Pleased to meet you," Moody rumbled, reaching for Lucy's hand.

But the minute gnarled skin touched her fingers, Moody _flickered._ The image solidified as the man – blond hair, taller, smooth features – lifted her hand to kiss.

Draco dove beneath the table as the whole Hall gasped, seeing Snape lunge for his wand. Edmund jerked Lucy back; power blasted the air.

_"Immobilus!"_ His Head of House, roaring over the sudden shouts and screams.

Blue shimmered into a thick wall separating the students from the staff table. _Shield?_ Peering from under solid oak, Draco could hear the shouts and screams of the students as jets of light slammed between their professors and the imposter.

_Polyjuice._ Had to be.

Incantations were muffled by the sheen of power protecting them. _What the -_

"Slytherins!" roared a prefect. "Back to the table, and _sit down!"_

"Ravenclaws! To me! Sit!" Another prefect took their cue; in moments the shouting had almost abated, but it was nothing to the battle taking place at the staff table.

_Dumbledore put up the shield. He's still holding it up._ Draco could see that McGonagall and Sprout were protecting the Headmaster, who was in turn protecting the students. But that still left -

_Where'd he go?_

Not far.

The man, who once again looked like Moody, was crouching behind a chair on the far end of the dais, muscles tense with the need to break towards the unbarred access labeled 'Staff Only'. _He's going for the door!_

Edmund cut him off; then Lupin was there, and the imposter disappeared behind Peter and the advancing Snape.

A moment later, the blue wall fizzled and died.

* * *

"Hufflepuffs! Sit down!"

The prefect who had cast a drying spell on all the first-years in their House was shouting; the lady was headed for their table. _Lucy Pevensie – she's our. . . what did they call it? Muggle advisor? What does that mean?_

He'd find out in a minute, he guessed. _What's going on?_ Voices called throughout the hall, ordering students back to their seats and calming the chaos that had exploded with the battle up at the teachers' table.

A familiar figure caught his attention; Owen looked hopefully at the man standing two steps from Dumbledore's side. _Uncle Will? _

Gray eyes caught his, sending a wave of soothing comfort toward Owen from across the Great Hall. _I don't suppose this is what Mum and Dad meant when they told me to have a good time, but be careful. _He'd never been on his own before. _At least Uncle Will's here._ Even if he wasn't really Owen's uncle, Will Stanton had been his dad's friend since they were kids and was close enough to be family.

Voices chattered around him.

"What's going on?"

"Who is it?

" – _Mad-Eye Moody?_"

"- but I think -"

"Did you _see_ -"

"Unbelievable!"

_They sure do talk a lot._ Owen glanced around as his fellow-first years slid obediently back onto oak benches.

"Hufflepuffs!"

Owen jumped at the call; and looked. Blinked. _She's standing on the table._ In the corner of his vision, a few jaws had sagged. _But I guess everyone can see her._

"I need you all to be quiet, now," she called. The woman's posture was open, and her glance shifted to the red-draped table on the left. "Gryffindors! Be seated, and be quiet!" For all the words were stern, there was no harshness to her.

Owen snuck a glance at the other side of the room as lips closed; the dark-haired lady had taken much the same control over the Ravenclaw and Slytherin tables, though her feet stayed on the Great Hall's stone floor.

But the professors -

An elbow nudged Owen's side. _Huh?_

Kevin Whitby's brown eyes were wide, both hands strangling a bit of his robe. "What d'you make of it?" His voice was very breathless.

_Dunno. _Owen lifted a shoulder, let it drop. Snuck a glance at the dais – two professors and the two men were still wrestling with the imposter, scattered shouts and the noises of a scuffle becoming clearer as the students found they could make out more from their seats. _I can't even see what's going on, really. Why ask me?_ What did Kevin think he was going to say?

A swearword made Eleanor Branstone, across the table, turn red.

"If you wouldn't mind?" Both the men who had just been Sorted had their hands tight on the struggling wizard; the black-haired one jerked his head toward their captive as he spoke.

A spell from one of the professors muted the cursing spewing from the man's mouth. _Mum's _not_ going to like hearing about this!_

Two professors, the two men, and the imposter were sweeping towards the doors to the Great Hall; Owen caught a glimpse filled with sneering features and venomous eyes and flinched back into the table. Dumbledore was speaking quickly with the Professors – he couldn't hear –

The teachers started to move, some toward the staff table, others out side doors by the dais that Owen hadn't seen before. Soon only four were left – Uncle Will, Dumbledore, McGonagall, and the large man who had led all of them from the train and across the lake in the storm. Uncle Will bent, picking something up from smooth stone. _The wooden leg. _Owen swallowed hard. _And magical eye . . . _

Two hands raised, clothed in shimmering green robes speckled with silver stars and moons. _He needn't have bothered, everyone's looking already –_

The Headmaster's voice wound through the floating candles and echoed under the black sky reflected down from the ceiling. "Thank you for remaining calm. At this moment, the Aurors are being contacted and the intruder is well guarded. Please remain seated; although it is late, we must all remain for a short while longer. Accordingly, tomorrow morning's classes are canceled, but the afternoon classes will be held."

"Doesn't do us much good, does it?" Kevin Whitby had given up talking to Owen, and was leaning over the table toward Eleanor Branstone. "We don't even know what our classes are."

Pigtails _swished_ as the girl tilted her head. "We're supposed to get our schedules tonight, from our Prefects."

"How d'you know that?" Another girl, hair a wispy blonde halo floating about her face. "Oh!" Her grin showed straight white teeth. "I'm Laura Madley."

"Mum told me. And my name's Eleanor," her nose wrinkled, "but everyone calls me Ella."

"Kevin," the dark-skinned boy at Owen's side stuck his hand over the table, shaking each girl's arm vigorously.

"What's your name?"

_Me?_ Owen's whole body pulled in on itself a little as he realized all three were looking at him curiously. Moisture fled his mouth, leaving his tongue parchment-dry. _I wish they'd left us water._ "Owen," he croaked.

"Nice to meet you." Kevin stuck out his hand; Owen's was sweaty with nervousness, but he shook anyway. "I'm from Kent. What about you?"

"Buckinghamshire," Owen managed.

"Are you Muggle-born?" Laura grinned over the table at him, bold and kind at once. "It's okay to be scared."

"I'm not." Owen took a breath. Hot embarrassment twitched deep inside him, sucking warmth from his hands and leaving his skin nasty with chilled sweat. "Not Muggle-born."

"But that guy was _creepy_," Kevin bounced in, kneeling on the bench and half-sprawled over sparkling golden plates. "Did you see his face? All twisted up, and he was spitting -"

"He looked angry." Ella shivered, one hand tugging a pigtail.

"Is everything all right here?"

Owen stared up into kind eyes framed by reddish hair.

"Hello," the lady smiled. "I'm Lucy Pevensie. How was your trip across the lake?"

"Wet," Laura laughed.

Kevin snorted, pushing off the table to stretch up from his knees. "It was _awesome -_"

Owen looked up at the teachers' table as the others pulled on her attention. Uncle Will was standing next to the older woman, who was speaking to Dumbledore. _I wonder if she's a teacher. She looks stern -_

"Owen?" The lady - Miss Lucy – was seated beside him on the hard bench.

Blue-green eyes riveted to his plate, Owen whispered past the dryness in his mouth. "Yes?"

"Your friends are worried you might be afraid." A comforting smile beamed from light brown eyes, easing the fear's iron grip on his insides.

_But they don't even know me! _The words slipped out without him knowing how. "There's so many _people_ here . . ."

"It'll be alright," Lucy put a hand on his shoulder. Her voice was soft enough that in the buzzing hall, this conversation was only between them. "Buckinghamshire's in the country, isn't it? Hogwarts may have more people than you're used to, but the grounds are a lot like the moors, in places."

"I don't know anyone, except Uncle Will." Owen kept his head down. _And none of my friends from home are here, not Toby or Jake and I'm alone and I don't know how - _

"Well, you know me."

Astonishment had him blinking into brown eyes, without noticing for a long moment that he'd moved at all.

"Not well," Lucy smiled, "but then we've only just met. And you know Kevin, and Ella, and Laura. I'm sure you could grow to be friends. You just need to get to know one another."

_Scared. Can't –_ "Don't know how."

"That's why you're at Hogwarts, Owen. To learn. Do you think you can try?"

Did he dare? Air slipped shakily from his lungs, and Owen thought. _Maybe. I just have to try; that's not so hard._ The decision wasn't sure, but he made it anyway. "Okay."


	2. Chapter 2

Sunlight slanted across the room from the tall windows set behind the professor's desk. Gray eyes squinted into the light; Cedric held up a hand to let his vision adjust from the darker corridor, and chose a seat.

Jayden's elbow was bony, digging into his side. _No wonder Madam Hooch calls him on cobbing! _"So, do you think you're going to do it?"

Cedric slid three books onto the shared desk and then blinked at his Housemate. "Huh?"

"The Triwizard Tournament!" Jayden slapped both palms on oak panels in exasperation. "What else, man?"

"I won't be seventeen until February," added Hector, leaning way over from the row just above and behind them. "You've gotta try, Cedric. Otherwise the Gryffindors will manage to hog all the glory."

_Are you kidding me?_ "It's Hogwarts against Beauxbatons and Durmstrang," Cedric felt constrained to point out. "Not a House competition."

"Still," Keith sat on Cedric's other side, completing the quartet of seventh-year Hufflepuffs who shared a dorm. "I'm going for it."

"What'd your Mum say?" Hector had a knowing grin on his face.

The stockier boy shrugged. "I owled home last night, but I haven't heard back yet."

"My Mum would go nutters," Jayden sighed. "I'd never hear the end of it. What _is_ the death toll for the Tournament, anyway?"

"Who knows?" Cedric kept an eye on the Ravenclaws, settling into their own seats. _Professor's not here yet. _Class should be starting any minute –

"Welcome to History of Magic." The door shut on a noisy hallway, leaving the seventh-year Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws in relative silence. "I'm Professor Stanton; as you're all aware, Professor Binns retired earlier this year."

Cedric stared, aware he wasn't the only one. _Weird._ Their teacher was a Muggle, and dressed like one. Not as tall as Cedric, perhaps, with straight brown hair that looked like it might need a cut soon, and the sleeves of his button-down shirt rolled to elbows in concession to the last of summer's heat. Cedric was sweating in his school robes.

Professor Stanton pulled out a pair of glasses, slipping them on to take attendance; hands went up in turn as names were called. Something knocked his ankle as Cedric lifted his own hand. _Ow!_

One eye on the professor calling roll, he darted a glare at the Hufflepuff Quidditch team's second-best Chaser.

Jayden raised his eyebrows meaningfully, whispering. "Well?"

_The Tournament._ "I don't know," Cedric whispered back. "I have to owl home -"

"You should do it, Cedric," his friend hissed. "I bet you'd make it, too -"

A presence filled the space before their desk; Jayden jumped. "Mr. Diggory. Mr. Sadeler. Might I ask what you find so interesting?"

_Ooops._

"Nothing, Professor," Jayden tried for innocence, blinking in surprise.

The eyes behind the older man's glasses were grey and sharp. "If it was nothing, you wouldn't have missed my question."

_Question? He asked a question? _Sneaking a glance to the side, Cedric saw Keith nod slightly. _Oh, shi –_

"I'm waiting, gentlemen." Arms folded, the calm on Professor Stanton's face never wavered.

Cedric gulped. "The Triwizard Tournament, sir."

A few murmurs broke out, dying as the teacher scanned twenty-odd students clumped behind table-like desks on opposing sides of the room. "I see," Stanton said, turning to the single desk situated across from the door. The paper he'd been holding went there, glasses slipping back into a front pocket. "Given last night's announcement, I had wondered if class would be able to hold your attention. I suppose not. So, who can tell me when the first Triwizard Tournament took place?"

Cedric caught the expression on Jayden's face and frowned. _Wait – what? _He was pretty sure that when a teacher caught a student who wasn't paying attention in class, the response _wasn't_ to suddenly switch topics. _He's not docking points? Giving detention? Huh?_

"Seven hundred years ago," Karen Foyster ventured from across the room.

_And points to Ravenclaw -_

"Yes, Dumbledore said that at the Feast last night," their professor nodded. Cedric stared. "I want an exact date. Anyone."

_Awkward._ There was shifting in seats, everyone carefully _not_ making eye contact so that they wouldn't be called on._ It's not like anyone even really thought about the Tournament as anything other than a legend, until last night._

"The first Triwizard Tournament was held in 1279, at Beauxbatons Academy of Magic. The winner was Gennadi Lepalovski from Durmstrang, who lost three fingers in completing the second task. But in 1389 the Tournament was discontinued, primarily because the death toll had topped forty students."

_Only forty?_ Puzzlement pursed Cedric's mouth; Keith was leaning forward in his seat, riveted. Along with nearly everyone else in the room. _I'd thought there'd be more. . ._

"Doesn't seem like much, does it?" Professor Stanton was looking at all of them now. A few heads shook. _He's a Muggle. How does he know so much about magical history?_ Following on the heels of that thought was, _We never learned _anything_ like this with Binns!_

"Do the math." Stanton suddenly jumped up onto the long table-like row of desks, and began walking toward the other end of the room. Cedric gaped; slammed his jaw closed as Stanton stepped over his parchment, ticking items off on each finger as he went. "1279 until 1389 . . . that's one-hundred and ten years. With a Triwizard Tournament every five years . . . twenty-two such events took place. With three students from each school, that makes sixty-six competitors total over the history of the Tournament. Forty dead. That's _sixty_ _percent_ of school Champions. And those numbers don't take into account those injured." Navigating the books and parchments strewn across the surface beneath his feet, Stanton reached the far end of the desks and turned around. _Over half the Champions died?_

"In that light, the Tournament suddenly seems like an extremely dangerous and foolish venture. Why would anyone want to participate?" Feet hit dusty stone as their professor jumped back to the ground. "I put the question to you. Why do you want to participate?"

"Honor," Hector spoke up, the first to get over his surprise. _Glory, he means._

"The prize money," added Anthony Miyamoto from the Ravenclaw side. Cedric nodded into the general mumble of agreement. _A thousand galleons . . . _Enough money to start a Ministry apprenticeship without working hellish hours just to survive. _Enough money to start up a business, or pay off tuition debts, or anything-! _

"Challenge." Cedric heard his own voice without remembering making the decision to speak. "It's a game – a competition."

"Good points," their professor nodded, serenity broken enough to let a small smile out. "What else?"

Blank silence.

"How about peer pressure?" Stanton asked quietly. "I'm sure those of you who can't participate are encouraging those you know who can to do so." Before anyone could flush guiltily, the soft voice had continued. "And there was also pressure from schools for their students to bring them honor – the winner of the Tournament not only received great glory, but their school got the privilege of deciding where the following Tournament would be held. Which meant the school got publicity."

_But what does that have to do with –_

"Tell me. What does that mean?"

Cedric shrugged in response to their professor's intent look.

"Compared with those you term 'Muggles', the Wizarding world has a very small population." Smashing classroom protocol to bits, Stanton sat on his desk. "Especially several hundred years ago, when coming from a family of people without magic meant you _wouldn't_ get formal training at a magical institute. Only purebloods were allowed in."

Someone muttered darkly; twisting in his seat, Cedric caught a glimpse of outrage in fiery brown eyes. Elain, who'd been tormented mercilessly for her Muggle heritage by certain Slytherins during their first five years at Hogwarts. _They only stopped because they graduated._ All the Hufflepuffs had been outraged by it, but unable to really do much. _People like that don't change._ She had a right to her resentment.

Stanton didn't miss it either. "Miss Genault. You look angry. Why?"

"That kind of prejudice is disgusting." Elain would never learn to mince words.

"Explain."

_Is he serious?_

Elain's expression darkened. "There's no basis for judging someone by their background -"

"Isn't there?" Stanton, again. Cedric couldn't believe his ears. "After all, I'll bet that many of you judged me for being a Muggle before I even walked into this classroom, whether you meant to or not."

Heat stained his cheeks. Cedric kept grey eyes on his parchment.

But there was no condemnation in their professor's voice; the calm tone was easy, projecting understanding. "It was the label of 'Muggle' that induced such judgment – naturally, you know that I supposedly have little or no contact with your world. I can't do magic, and I'm not expected to know anything about how the Wizarding world works. Odds are, with most Muggles, that reasoning would be correct. It's a judgment, a stereotype, and people make them because they're accurate _most_ of the time. It's when they're not that you run into problems.

"Miss Genault. Why did you think that _prejudice_ was the basis for Muggle-borns being denied formal magical training in the twelve-hundreds?"

_Tap, tap tapttaptaptaptap._ Jayden could never stay still, was the bane of quill-makers everywhere, and was smushing the tip of his newest into splinters. _Talk about nervous reactions._ But Cedric was almost twitching with excited interest himself.

"There's no difference between Muggle-borns, half-bloods and purebloods -"

Stanton raised a finger. "Not quite, Miss Genault, but that's a later lesson, I'm afraid. Let's assume that you are correct for now; go on, please."

Sounding much less certain, Elain continued. _I know how she feels._ "I mean, all can do magic, there's no reason to deny anyone because of ability on that score. But there's been prejudice against those with non-magical heritage since the time of the Founders. What else would it be?"

"What else, indeed?" Shoes _clack_ed against stone as Stanton jumped off the desk, and resumed pacing up and down the room. "What events were taking place in the twelve hundreds? Mr. McGuckan."

"Um . . . the Ministry of Magic as we know it had not yet been developed, there was only an administrative council without much power. Numerous goblin rebellions were launched against the Wizarding upper classes, which were the only governing bodies really in place. And the Triwizard Tournament of course -" Greg's relief when Stanton raised a hand was visible even on the Hufflepuff side of the room.

"In Magical history, yes, very good. What about Muggle history? Does anyone know?" In the middle of the room their professor nodded slowly, as if he hadn't expected an answer. "You cannot assume that the two are mutually exclusive – that they have nothing to do with each other. You know that even though Muggles cannot see Dementors, they can still be affected by them. The Magical world influences the Muggle world – and the same is true in the reverse.

"But what does this _mean_?"

_And he's off –_ Cedric had managed to stay with Stanton's leaps so far, which was more than might be said for Jayden, but he still didn't see what any of this had to do with – _Oh, no, what was it again?_

"Muggle-borns weren't allowed to practice magic; much of the time, they weren't even aware that the Wizarding World existed. Why? The story that the Wizarding world abides by now is that the witch hunts which took place during the thirteenth century put the families of Muggle-born witches and wizards at risk. That might be true. But look at it from another perspective - if those Muggle-borns were trained, might they not have been able to protect their families against the Inquisition?"

_Yes, probably –_

"We can't change the past. We can only try to understand it. We're trying to see how the Triwizard Tournament's very existence, in the face of all the injuries and deaths it produced, could have continued for so long, and what it could have done in its time that the Ministry now wants to reinstate it. So what do we know? What have we just been talking about?"

Cedric raised his hand carefully, noting a few thoughtful expressions from across the room. _Maybe sitting in the front row today wasn't the best idea._

"Mr. Diggory?"

"Well, Professor Dumbledore said last night that it made ties between students from all over Europe. Pure-blooded students," he amended.

"International relations," Stanton nodded. "Good. Miss Genault?"

"Like Cedric said, we've been talking about how the Wizarding world was only really made of purebloods at that time," Elain sounded as if she'd gotten stuck somewhere between angry and confused by that.

"Correct," Stanton held up a second finger. "International relations, a small Wizarding population – there's one more thing. Mr. Miyamoto."

"We talked about how the Tournament brought honor and glory to the school that won." Anthony sounded unsure, and huffed a relived breath when their professor smiled.

"Good job. Now you have all the pieces – does anyone care to try to assemble them into an answer? What is the question we're trying to answer, Mr. Sadeler?"

"What the Triwizard Tournament did that was so important that even though so many people died, it continued for over a hundred years. And why the Ministry's starting it up again now," Jayden was leaning forward in his seat, knuckles of his clasped hands rubbing the bristles on the underside of his chin.

"Exactly. _Think._"

A stretched-out moment of silence, in which Cedric felt a frown wrinkling his forehead. _They're all related? But – how? What if – no, that doesn't make any sense –_

"I'll put the pieces together for you now, to show you how it's done." Stanton's smile was short. "In the future, I'll expect you to be able to do this for yourselves." He sat on top of the desk again, feet hanging some centimeters from cream-shaded stone.

"Despite the enlightened attitude of the Hogwarts founders a few hundred years beforehand, in the thirteenth century only purebloods and half-bloods received magical training. Today, Hogwarts is home to somewhere around three hundred students. Seven hundred years ago, there was barely a third that number, even when all the Houses and different years were combined."

_Only three hundred? It always felt like more. . . but it couldn't be. There's not that many per year even across all seven years, and only four Houses -_

"For a school, that's a very dangerous state of affairs. Despite all that magic, house-elves, and donations can do, every magical institute was dependant on the tuition that students brought in. The solution seems quite easy – find more students, preferably those who can pay. But that was a major factor in why Muggle-borns were denied tutelage. They wouldn't have been able to afford the massive fees many of you know higher education can cost."

Cedric winced. _Dad was just complaining about that before the Cup._ He'd worked all summer, but had barely been able to cover a third of this year's tuition expenses, and his books.

"So the only solution was to get more pureblooded students to come to the institution; but we already know that with such a small population as the Wizarding world had in those times, students weren't just going to appear out of thin air. They had to come from somewhere – and soon, the schools realized that the students would have to start coming from other countries. But other countries had their own magical institutions, which were just as intent on not only keeping native students, but getting international students for themselves as well. What to do?"

Stanton paused here, reaching into a desk drawer to produce a bottle of water. A few sips later, and the professor's voice was noticeably smoother. "That's where the Triwizard Tournament came into play. By connecting with other institutions in an incredibly public event, the schools could showcase the quality of the students they put out, exhibit the skill of their teachers, and if they won, most schools made sure the following Tournament was held on their grounds. This practically guaranteed that the school's admissions rate would rise in the following year as students and prospective students from other schools transferred to or entered the winning school. Alumni donations usually increased as well.

"In short, the winners of the Tournament not only brought glory to their school, but publicity – and following that, the school would be more likely to draw greater numbers of students, including those that might have attended one of the other magical academies. And with the increasing numbers of students came more money, more attention, and the certainty of the school's continued existence. It's not for nothing that Hogwarts has the largest number of alumni in the Wizarding world's European history."

_Is he saying what I think he's saying?_ Cedric traded an incredulous look with Keith.

"No _way_," blurted a familiar voice from just behind and above. _Nice one, Hector!_

"I suggest you spend this semester getting familiar with your school's history, Mr. Yager," Professor Stanton advised with a tiny grin. "You might want to take a closer look in the Trophy Room and go through the Library with more care, for starters. Hogwarts not only has won the most Tournaments to date, but more importantly, this School won the last one, held in 1389. That would be the primary reason why this year's Tournament isn't going to be held at Beauxbatons or Durmstrang."

A glance down to his wrist propelled Stanton off the desk and onto his feet once more. "Unfortunately, we don't have much time to go into questions today if I want to tell you how I'll be running this class – something I suspect you all will be interested in hearing."

In the corner of his vision, Jayden scrabbled for a fresh quill.

"My goal this year is to make you _think_," the words rang firmly through the classroom. "And I'm going to teach you how. Since you've only got one year until you graduate, as seventh-years, your curriculum _will_ be the hardest. You're going to learn everything the younger classes are learning, and you're going to do it faster."

"Bugger," snarled Keith lowly, but he didn't actually _look_ too unhappy about it when Cedric lifted his head from blotting a fresh quill.

"The classroom will be run more informally than you're accustomed to. I will expect everyone to come prepared, having done the assigned reading, and be ready to discuss it, much as I just did, in class. I want you to talk, argue, state your opinion – and then I want you to back it up. We can dispense with raising hands if you keep respectfully quiet _while_ someone is talking, but other than that, I want to hear what you think and what you have to say."

_Free-for-all,_ Cedric predicted. Curiosity curled his mouth into a grin._ I wonder how it'll turn out._

"The first three weeks out of every month, you'll have an essay due in NEWT format. You'll get the topic Mondays and, unless you have a verified excuse from Madam Pomfrey, Madam Hooch, or your Head of House, it will be due Friday. The fourth week of every month you will have an exam, also in slightly shortened NEWT format."

_NEWT format? What's that? Binns never. . . I guess I'm going to need to talk to him after class._ Quill scribbled that note to himself in the margin he'd left beside the scattered scrawlings about today's discussion.

"For Friday, I want you each to write half a roll of parchment on one of three topics, your choice. First – compare and contrast the rules of the Triwizard Tournament as it was held in thirteenth century with how this year's Tournament is intended to take place. Second, why you think that for the first time in over half a millennia, the Ministry of Magic is reinstituting the Tournament. Third, if some topic we discussed today caught your attention and you want to look deeper into it, talk to me and I'll see if it's appropriate. I expect you to do an analysis, not rattle off facts."

_That might be a little harder. At least it's only half a roll. That's not bad._ Cedric was still knocked a bit off balance by the way Stanton had simply grabbed a whole bunch of old, unrelated facts and woven them together into _why_ and _how _and _who_ to explain the _now._

"Also note," Stanton said, leaning against his desk with arms folded. "If I can't read your assignments, I can't properly grade them, and you will fail that assignment. Write clearly, legibly, and to the point." Cedric looked up in time to see the professor scanning rows of heads bent over parchment and quill. Scuffling from the hallway caught his ear. _Wow – we're out of time already?_

"If there are any questions, I'll be in my office Tuesdays, Wednesdays and Thursdays between and after classes. Feel free to show up if you want to speak with me about class or need help, or even if you just want to talk. Class dismissed."

* * *

"Good day."

_Geez!_ Harry stuffed his heart back down to where it belonged, taking a deep breath of heavily-perfumed air. _Oh no, not again –_

Thin as she was, the enormous glasses on Professor Trelawny's face made her look exceptionally bug-like. _She's got that look on her face. The one that says she's waiting for me to tragically drop dead right here. _If the thick, flowery scent on the air didn't do him in, boredom surely would.

_Hermione was right. We should have dropped Divination for something interesting. Muggle Studies. _

"You are preoccupied, my dear," she said mournfully. "My inner eye sees past your brave face to the troubled soul within. And I regret to say that your worries are not baseless. I see difficult times ahead for you, alas . . . most difficult . . . I fear the thing you dread will indeed come to pass . . . and perhaps sooner than you think . . ."

Across the small, circular table, blue eyes rolled. Harry stared stonily back at their professor, who then swept off past them to seat herself in a large winged armchair before the fire. The room was hot and all the curtains were closed, bathing everything in reddish light from the pink lamps and fire.

Emerald eyes blinked. _Hot. Really, really hot in here. Dizzy._ Good thing he was sitting down; Harry glared at Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil. The two girls deeply admired Professor Trelawny and were perched on pink poufs very close to her, seemingly unaffected by the room's heat.

"My dears, it is time for us to consider the stars." The reedy voice fluttered in a rhythmic rise-and-fall. "The movements of the planets and the mysterious portents they reveal only to those who understand the steps of the celestial dance. Human destiny may be deciphered by the planetary rays, which intermingle. . ."

Harry stifled a yawn. Even though Herbology and Care of Magical Creatures had been cancelled this morning, he hadn't gotten enough sleep. _I'd have liked to see what Hagrid and Lucy planned for the first class, though. . . _Still, what with everything that had gone on last night, the Gryffindor common room had been abuzz until almost four in the morning. Some of the first-years had been carried off to bed by sixth- and seventh-years –

_"Harry!"_

Startled from the brink of sleep, he blinked at Ron. "What?"

A moment later, it registered that the whole class was staring at him. _Um . . . _

"I was saying, my dear, that you were clearly born under the baleful influence of Saturn." Irritation faintly colored Professor Trelawny's voice at the evidence that he hadn't been hanging on her every word.

_Tell that to Sirius,_ he thought rebelliously. On second thought, his godfather would probably think this was funny; he'd written Harry already, and Harry was going to write back as soon as this class was over. "Born under – what, sorry?"

"Saturn, dear, the planet Saturn!" _Now she's definitely peeved._ "I was saying that Saturn was surely in a position of power in the heavens at the moment of your birth. . . . Your dark hair . . . your mean stature . . . tragic losses so young in life . . . I think I am right in saying, my dear, that you were born in midwinter?"

He choked down a snicker. _Sirius is going to love hearing about this!_ "No, I was born in July."

Ron hastily turned a laugh into a hacking cough.

"I see." And a moment later, she was back to being vague and brainless. "Perhaps the conjunction of Mercury and Mars, then, but though the inner eye is always right, we mortals do not often correctly interpret the signs we are given. . ."

_Maybe Malfoy has a point._ He'd heard the Slytherin grumbling last year, something about Trelawny and drugs and the smell of the air in the North Tower. The thought was enough to send him into silent laughter. Ron was giving him a weird look; Harry just rolled his eyes, jerking his head toward the winged chair's occupant.

Which was when Trelawny started passing out complicated, circular start charts. "Now, my dears, take the moment of your birth and fill in the position of the planets on the chart, so that we may see what destinies shall unfold. . ."

Smooth paper filled his hand; Harry looked to see that together, his and Ron's charts were large enough to take up all the surface of their small table. _Oh, no._ Ron had already pulled out Unfogging the Future and was flipping to the timetables. _Oh, great, we have to do calculations –_

"This can't be right," Harry frowned, checking his numbers after long minutes of struggling through figures. "I've got two Neptunes here -"

"Ahhh," Ron said in his best mysterious whisper. "When two Neptunes appear in the sky, it is a sure sign that a midget in glasses is being born, Harry. . . ."

Harry grinned at Seamus and Dean, working nearby. Both had heard Ron and couldn't contain their laughter.

"Oh Professor, look!" Lavender squealed, calling for Trelawny's attention. "I think I've got an unaspected planet! Oooh, which one's that, Professor?"

Massive lenses slipped down a pointed nose as Trelawny peered at the chart. "That is Uranus, my dear."

"Can I have a look at Uranus too, Lavender?"

Harry kicked Ron under the table; no good. Trelawny turned to them, not at all as airy-fairy as usual. "A detailed analysis of the way the planetary movements in the coming month will affect you, with reference to your personal chart," she snapped. Harry blinked. _She sounds like Professor McGonagall._ "I want it ready to hand in next Monday, and no excuses!"

Stifling a groan, Harry glared at Ron. His best friend was muttering under his breath as he packed books and chart back into his bag. "Miserable old bat," Ron pronounced as they descended the silver stepladder and the North Tower's circular trapdoor had slammed shut after them. "That'll take all weekend, that will. . ."

He was still grumbling as they reached the main staircase, joining the rest of the students on their way into the Great Hall for dinner.

"Lots of homework?" Hermione looked happier than she had earlier, being forced to wake up after only a few hours' sleep. "Professor Vector didn't give us _any_ at all!"

"Well, bully for Professor Vector," Ron said moodily.

It only took a few minutes more, but the crush of people was something Harry always managed to forget over summer holiday. Slipping into his seat at the Gryffindor table, he pulled out a piece of parchment and a quill, loading his plate with the other hand.

"What's that, Harry?"

"Mmm." Swallowing down corn and mashed potatoes, Harry said thickly, "Letter." A sip of juice cleared his throat nicely. "To Sirius. He wrote me this morning, just to say he went to Grimmauld Place yesterday afternoon, to clean it up a bit more." For all the letter had sounded normal, and he could almost hear Sirius' voice speaking to him through the words. . . _I can't imagine he was very happy to go back._ He didn't really know why, but Harry knew that Grimmauld Place wasn't someplace Sirius liked at all. _Kind of like how I feel about the Dursleys' house._

Across a plate of vegetables, Hermione was eating at top speed. _She's going to make herself sick._ Harry slanted a puzzled glance at Ron, and got a blank shrug in return. "Don't tell me you're going back to the library this evening?" She'd set off for there after breakfast, making good on cancelled classes to look something up.

"Got to," said Hermione around a mouthful of chicken and sprouts. "Loads to do."

"But you told us Professor Vector -"

Swallowing, thick waves of hair shook impatiently. "It's not schoolwork." Inside five minutes the golden plate was clean, and she'd grabbed up her books and made for the door. As her place at the bench emptied, Harry smiled to see the blond man who took her seat.

"Harry, Ron. How was the first day of classes?" A smile peeked from behind his beard. "And where's Hermione off to in such a rush?"

"Hi Peter!" Colin Creevy plunked himself down next to the Gryffindor 'advisor'. "Hiya, Harry!"

Harry blinked.

And then Colin was off, chattering about his awful Potions class with Professor Snape and his brother's first encounter with Madam Hooch and flying and what he'd heard about the third-year Ravenclaws' and Slytherins' joint Care of Magical Creatures class with some new creature that Hagrid had gotten from _somewhere_ and it was the weirdest thing anyone had ever _seen_ –

Harry's quill slowed as he stared. _Doesn't he need to breathe?_

Apparently not, because Colin kept chattering excitedly away. Peter laughed, hands in the air. "Colin, calm down a minute. Have you eaten? Take your time," he urged as the younger boy nearly inhaled the food in his rush to talk.

"Hey, Peter."

"Fred. How was Defense Against the Dark Arts?" Ron looked up from avoiding the carrots on his plate.

Two identical heads shook.

"'Mazing," Lee Jordan said, sounding a bit puzzled.

George reached for a fork. "Lupin's done a complete about-face from last year. Hexes – and _Dark_ magics." His twin shuddered.

"He sounds like he _knows_ what it's like to be out there . . . _doing_ it. Fighting the Dark Arts." Fred's teeth tore savagely through a roll.

Ron dived into his bag for his schedule. "We haven't got him until Thursday!"

Peter chuckled softly. "Sirius is his best friend, Fred. I think Remus has a very good idea of what's involved with fighting the Dark Arts."

"Yeah," George chewed a sprout thoughtfully. "Still, I wonder -"

"- What did Lupin do before he was a professor?" Fred took over the thought, and Harry took a moment to study the dais in the front of the Great Hall. _I never asked._ And it was weird to talk about Remus like this.

"Peter," he wanted to change the subject. "What was going on yesterday, with you and Ed and Lucy and Susan getting Sorted? You never said anything about that this summer."

Instantly diverted, the twins, Lee and Ron fixed their attention on the blond man. Even Colin Creevy slowed his chewing, distracted.

"It was something Dumbledore suggested just before the Feast." Peter's voice was . . . very neutral. "It sounded like a good idea, and so we agreed. All it means really is that we're more accessible to you, and other students, than we might be if we teach classes some people don't have."

_Care of Magical Creatures, Muggle Studies. But why would that –_

Peter shrugged. "Edmund's really the only one here in any official capacity. We're just here to help him; and I won't actually be here most of the year, unfortunately."

"Why?" Lee frowned.

_It's his job, I bet._ Harry hadn't heard much of it over the summer; just enough to know that the leave Peter had taken last year was causing him some problems now.

"I have to work," Peter told them. "I have a feeling I won't be at my current job for much longer, but until then I need to put in a certain amount of time. I'm not on leave, like I was last year."

"I can't believe Edmund got Sorted into _Slytherin_." Ink dry, Harry folded up his finished letter to Sirius. _I'll go see Hedwig tonight, maybe. Maybe before breakfast tomorrow._ She hadn't been pleased with the Floo trip to Hogsmeade Central, turning her beak up at him when he'd opened her cage last night.

Peter's laugh was full and rich. "Oh, it suits him perfectly. He's more cunning than you'll ever get him to admit, and keeps his head well in a fight."

"You're alright with that?" Ron gaped.

"Why wouldn't I be?" Blond hair tilted in surprise. "Just because he's in Slytherin doesn't mean he's a bad person. What House he's in doesn't define who he is. Anyway, being ambitious isn't a crime. And it's not such a bad thing as you all assume." Peter arched a brow at them; the other Gryffindors squirmed, just a bit.

Uneasiness still jittered in Harry's gut. _Yeah, but Slytherin, it's turned out more Dark witches and wizards than any other House . . . but not all Dark wizards came out of Slytherin,_ a tiny voice in the back of his head piped up. _Peter Pettigrew was a Gryffindor._

"No," Fred muttered grudgingly.

Peter chuckled wickedly. "Besides, it'll make our next spar more interesting."

Harry snorted.

* * *

Sudden agony made him gasp, and nearly drop his wand.

_Damn it!_

Black cloth pressed against tearing blue; mostly-blind, Draco fumbled for smooth bay. _"Occulovelus."_

Darkness.

Still, he gave it a few more minutes before lowering the sleeve of his school robes. Icy blue, reddened with the pain of bursting light, winced at the dungeon's paler shadows. _Son of a –_

Well, he'd just have to do without it. _This might take longer than I anticipated._ Still, it would be faster than trying to arrange to buy the ingredients himself with no one else the wiser. And if he couldn't use one of the handier spells in his repertoire, well, that was life.

_Figures. Hogwarts has magic stuffed into every stone._ When he'd cast a charm to let him see the wards draping every inch of the access to Snape's office, he'd thought his eyes would be burned out by the power radiating from every direction.

Still, the night's venture wasn't a total waste. Snape would be at dinner for a good half-hour more; Draco wasn't about to waste this time. _So I can't see it. But I know it's there._ And teasing out the shape of the protections locking the potions masters' office might require a bit more time, but it was nothing he couldn't handle.

_I waited all summer for this – and nothing's going to stop me now. Not this close._

So. . . he'd just have to try something else.

Rearranging the heavy bag of books against his side so that arms and legs were free, Draco reached in and pulled out a small roll of cloth. Unfolded on one of the thick granite table-tops, he surveyed the tools and made his decision.

A few innocuous twists of wire, some more interesting pieces a Muggle dentist might once have recognized – at least before Draco and his wand got hold of them. But none of those were precisely what he wanted –

Gleaming black diorite, rounded and worn from years under water.

The small, smooth stone left his fingers at high speed, and rebounded off the door with a sharp _ping!_

_Good. Let's try organic and inanimate, now. _

A roll, snatched from the Slytherin table, was grabbed and slowed as it moved toward smooth-grained wood, but bounced far enough back for Draco to retrieve it without problems. _Not keyed to fry anything organic. That's about right._

Hogwarts was a school, after all. Magics that Dark couldn't be found here, regardless of who cast them – not if the school wanted to keep on running.

_And the next step up. Organic, and alive._

The second tool came not from the kit but a chain hidden under the neck of his school clothes; a delicate silver tube no thicker and barely longer than his littlest finger, hollow, with four small holes bored along the length. Before fitting his lips around the pipe, Draco considered a moment; then white-blond nodded. Whispered, the incantation reached only his ears. _"Mus."_

He could have blown as hard as he liked; it still would have produced no sound. But fingers moved along the holes, the notes a haunting melody to the ears intended to hear it. A roach might have been easier to control, but a mammal was much better.

_Squeak._

A small shift of fur from the shadowed corners of the dungeon. White whisker-tips brushed dank stone. Draco gentled the notes. :_Closer. Come closer._:

_Squeak? Squeak._

:_Here. Just along here._:

Following the music, tiny paws scratched towards Snape's office door, and Draco nearly grinned to see the little creature amble right through the wards as if the magic smothering the very air was nothing. _Knew it!_

The mouse fled as the notes ceased; Draco tucked the tiny pipe back under his shirt. _Now, for the real test._ Fingers fit around bay wood like the joining of two souls. _Back to the basics._ Wand tapped the stone. _"Wingardium Leviosa."_

_Gently, gently –_

A meter off the ground, the stone hovered millimeters from the wards, the shape of them almost another presence in the empty dungeon. Icy blue narrowed in cool calculation.

Forward –

_BEWARE!_

Even waiting for it, shock started through Draco's body with an involuntary clench of muscles, jerking his focus from the wand and its spell. The scanning ward he'd put up before doing _anything_ else had detected an outgoing magical pulse. A silent alarm, letting the caster know that something was amiss.

_Careful. I have time._ He would only look guilty if he _acted_ guilty. Draco scooped up his stone, rolling it back up with his kit, stowing it all between his books as he exited. Pulled a cloak of arrogance and indifference over every inch of his skin, blond head rising as he strode up the dungeon stairs; waiting for Damocles' sword to fall was nothing new.

Familiar corridors, totally empty. _Everyone's at dinner._ Draco suddenly remembered the roll – soft and buttery under hungry teeth. Barely needing to think about the hallways he traversed, he halted in front of a particular patch of stone that looked as regular as any other.

Draco looked both ways; blank corridors stared back. _"Para bellum."_

Soothing green and chilled leather, and not a soul in sight. Stone rotated soundlessly back into place, and Draco abandoned the common room for the passageway to his dorm.

Beginning of term or not, he knew there were surveillance spells active. _Crabbe and Goyle may act dumb, but their parents at least aren't. _So he opened his trunk as usual, rummaging for some food, and the sleight-of-hand that slipped his kit beneath a pile of neatly-folded robes was swift and harmless enough that few would think anything of it.

_Leverage? On a Malfoy? Hah!_ No point in holding back the curl of his lip – searching hands unearthed a box of sweets.

_Click._

Trunk locked, Draco kicked off his shoes and sprawled over thick green blankets. No use taking physical notes, to leave evidence about just _what_ he was up to. _Standard wards. Didn't react to the warning ward _I_ put up, which makes sense. If the damn thing went off whenever magic was worked in the vicinity, what would be the point?_

Rolling onto his back, Draco folded both arms under his head. _But a spell directed deliberately at them _did_ set them off. They ignored life-signs under the ward radius, but the mouse didn't have intent._

A key sticking point that had baffled him with his dad's wards for almost a month. Eerie how similar the two were, actually. _But the ones at home probably were easier to crack than Snape's will be._ After all, Lucius Malfoy didn't really expect anything to happen at home; he was just being thorough. Snape _knew_ that students would be in his potions cabinet, given the slightest chance.

Licking the last sticky-sweet crumbs from one thumb, he thought a minute. _I don't know enough._ But homework was as good an excuse as he could ask for to spend some time in the library. _Tomorrow._

* * *

"Come on, come _on!_"

"Hold up, Brett, we're not going to be late to -"

Just inside the statue barring the entrance to the Ravenclaw common room, Brett rolled his eyes. "I'm so hungry I could eat a . . . a . . . well, I can't think of what, but it'll be huge."

A pretty fifth-year girl passing by them smiled on her way out. Brett grinned back. _I know I've seen her before – oh, of course!_ She was the Seeker for Ravenclaw's Quidditch team.

"Alright, alright." Chris finally just dropped the textbooks against one wall, straightening black robes as he crossed back over blue-patterned carpet. "If you're that hungry -"

The statue returned to its place behind them and froze into immobility once more. "I am."

"What, didn't you have lunch?" Chris sounded immensely unperturbed by this.

_Lunch. Right._ Brett sped up a little, knowing Chris would follow. "Ah – no."

"Why not?"

He kept his eyes steadfastly forward. "I – kind of – slept in."

"Until _noon?_"

"I _was_ almost late to class," Brett defended himself. He'd actually considered not going the night before, and consequently had nightmares about missing key exam material. So, after a restless, far-too-short night, he'd rolled out of bed and tromped to Herbology. Sometimes it really wasn't fun to be a Ravenclaw.

"Slow down, Bixby," squeaked Professor Flitwick. The tiny man had been almost bowled over by Brett's headlong dash toward the entrance of the Great Hall.

"Sorry, Professor." _Merlin, I almost took out our Head of House!_ He couldn't keep brown eyes from widening. "It's just that we went to the library after class and didn't realize how late it was until I got hungry, then Chris made us go all the way back to the common room to drop off his stuff off. And -"

Flitwick chuckled. "It's quite all right, young man. Just watch where you're going next time."

"Yes, Professor."

The minute the tiny teacher turned the corner, Brett was off again. _And we're finally -_

"Oof!"

"Ten points from Ravenclaw." Irritation hit his ears like the snap of a whip. Brett looked up, and gulped. _Professor Snape._

Black robes swirled off without a glance back.

"Good going," hissed Chris, poking him through the entranceway. "Way to start off second year."

"I'll get them back." Brett headed straight for the table. _Oooh. Mashed potatoes and corn and carrots and sprouts, chicken in lemon sauce and breaded fish and - _"In his class, too."

"Not a chance." Chris snagged a round roll from a golden platter and dipped it in creamy sauce oozing over the chicken.

Plate full of steaming goodness, Brett savored the first bite. "Wanna bet?"

"A week's worth of Transfiguration notes," Chris finally decided. "That you can't do it before October."

_A week's notes . . ._ "Done!"

**

* * *

**

**A/N: **Made-up magic, and notes thereof.

_Mus_ – Mouse, in the Latin. This is very much a 'Pied-Piper of Hamlin' trick that Draco is pulling here.

_Occulovellus_ – from the Latin _occulo_ meaning 'to cover, hide, conceal' and _vellum_ meaning 'wool'. Deactivates _Videscio_.

_Videscio_ – mutilation of the Latin _video_, 'I see', and _scio_, 'I know'. A spell which allows the caster to see and know all the quiescent spells around them. Good for detecting hidden magics, such as wards and alarms. Blindingly bad when employed someplace like Hogwarts, with _lots_ of magic _everywhere._


	3. Chapter 3

_Mmm. Soft._

A content yawn broke free; she rolled under smooth sheets and sat up blearily. Rubbing her eyes, Ginny blinked at the window. Sun spilled, warming the floor, and one of her roommates must have left it open because fresh air was still wafting in.

A sound, slightly out of place, caught her attention.

_'You. . . –ate! You. . . –ate! You. . . –ate! You. . . –ate! _

Ginny frowned. _Where is it –_ Crouched on hands and knees beside her nightstand, foreboding struck. She _knew_ that sound.

The alarm clock pulled from under her bed, where she must have knocked it in her sleep, was screeching with panic. _'You're late! You're late!'_

_Merlin's beard!_

The dorm was entirely empty – her Housemates knew nothing short of an explosion could wake her, and usually didn't try. _Oh no, oh no, oh no – It's only the second day, the first full day of classes, and I'm already behind! _

Robes askew, Ginny didn't bother to pull up her socks. Hopping into a shoe, she grabbed a tie for her hair and snagged her patchwork bag, rushing for the stairs. _Maybe I'll have time to get something to eat before -_

Students were wandering out of the Great Hall as she made her way in, but there were familiar forms at the Gryffindor table.

"Oh, you're finally up!" Sarah grinned, still combing wet hair. "Grab something, or we're going to be late!"

"What's first?" _Please don't let it be Potions. _Crumbs hit the table as Ginny tried to talk past her toast and reached for an orange. _No time for porridge, or eggs. . ._ but there were always lots of pastries she could wrap up and munch on until lunchtime.

Sarah grabbed an apple for herself. "Muggle Studies."

"Thank Merlin," Ginny sighed, slowing enough to swallow. Food and Potions was _never_ a good combination.

"Ready?"

They joined the last few students trickling from the Great Hall; the staff table had been emptied long since. Ginny led the way to the stairs, watching the moving flights carefully and only just remembering to skip the second step. Sarah was right behind her, and they managed to get through the door to the fourth-floor classroom before the Professor shut it.

Ginny slid into a bench, looking around the desks lined between stone walls. _Double class, with the Ravenclaws._

"Welcome to Muggle Studies." The woman smiled, robes a businesslike charcoal over what Ginny recognized to be a suit of some sort. "I'm sure that many of you heard about this class from older students. I am Professor Erin Galway. Last year, I taught this course with quite a lot of assistance from Peter Pevensie. Unfortunately, Mr. Pevensie will be unable to assist us as frequently this year as he did in the past."

"Rats!"

Ginny blinked at Sarah, but her friend kept brown eyes straight ahead.

One slender brow arced as Professor Galway glanced their way. "But today, to introduce you to the main point of this subject, we're going to have a practical class."

_Huh?_ Professor Lupin did those . . . but this was Muggle Studies. There weren't exactly any Muggles here _to_ study. _Well, the Pevensies, but they're not really Muggles, are they._

Professor Galway was standing by the door. "I'd like you all to leave your books and wands here, and follow me."

_Leave our wands?_ Ginny found the surprise she felt mirrored on almost every other face in the room. _Well, except Loony Lovegood, but she doesn't count._

"Leave our _wands?_" hissed David Brinkerhoff, dark eyes narrowed above the Ravenclaw badge sewn on black robes. "She's joking, right?"

"Come along," Galway said over the startled murmurs. "You needn't worry about your belongings; I'll be locking the door."

_That's _not_ what we're worried about._ Ginny left her wand, though everything in her told her not to do it. Witches and wizards _needed_ their wands! _It's too early for this. Whatever's going on, I hope it's worth it . . . _

"Follow me," Galway instructed, "and keep your voices down. Classes are in session."

They were forced to wait patiently for half the class when the stairs decided to change midstream, and that gave Sarah a chance to poke her. "Where do you think we're going?"

_Really good question. _"We'll find out when we get there," Ginny shrugged. She was starting to be glad that Professor Galway had made them leave their things in the classroom; they'd been walking for awhile.

It was when they arrived in the entranceway and bypassed the Great Hall that her suspicions congealed. _We can't be going –_

Galway pushed one heavy oak door and stood by it, waving them on.

_- outside. _

They were a good distance from the school before their Professor called them to a halt. Ginny joined the half-circle as Galway surveyed them all. "Now, close your eyes." Mystified, Ginny glanced at Sarah, who shrugged, and both obeyed. Professor Galway's voice was soft and reached them easily. "I want to you imagine, for a moment, that Hogwarts isn't there. You have no magic. You are on a moor with nothing, and all you have is your mind and body to aid you."

_No wand, that part's easy enough. Except for the bit about Hogwarts not being there –_

"Open your eyes."

"Whoa!"

"What -"

Ginny's jaw dropped. _Merlin._

"What happened to Hogwarts?" Sarah sounded scared.

_Is the spell on the castle . . . or on us?_ Either thought was enough to get Ginny mad enough to forget her shock.

"Interesting." Silver eyes sharpened as Loony Lovegood appeared to wake up.

Brown grass stretched for miles, dipping and rolling treacherously in every direction, all the way up to the edge of the Forbidden Forest. _The moors. _But – not quite. "Everything looks . . . dead."

The dark, chic bob nodded as Professor Galway walked a few steps toward what had been the lake and was now a dank marsh. "This is what Muggles see when they look at Hogwarts. Wasteland. What does that?"

_Bzzzz._

Mosquitoes. _Ugh._

"Magic," Loony Lovegood seemed to be fascinated by their surroundings; Ginny's nose wrinkled. The bog was a perfect illusion, complete with stink. She was suddenly glad that she'd left the rest of her breakfast in the classroom. _Hungry or not, that smell would put anyone off their feed._

"Exactly." Professor Galway was wearing sturdy boots, Ginny noticed. _I wonder why –_ "Tell me, what is the difference between Muggles and wizard-kind?"

Huffing a put-upon sigh, David Brinkerhoff opened his mouth. "We have magic, and they don't."

But Professor Galway didn't seem angry at his _this-is-so-obvious-it's-ridiculous_ tone. "Which means that they need to solve all their problems with only what is in the world around them, and in their own minds. As you must now do."

Brown eyes narrowed, Ginny turned in time to see –

Galway was _gone._

And in the next instant, it was raining.

Thick, drenching droplets turned Loony Lovegood's hair a bedraggled brown and David Brinkerhoff's face sour. Clustered together with the rest of the Gryffindors, Ginny heard one of the six Ravenclaws shout over the noise of the downpour – she couldn't tell who.

"Where's Professor Galway?"

_Book-smart, Ravenclaws, but no one ever accused them of having their feet on the ground._ "Gone," Ginny called back.

Sarah's irritation had clearly overcome the confusion she'd battled; Ginny's fellow Gryffindor was glaring at the cloudy skies that hadn't been there a minute ago. "What say we get out of this rain?"

"How do you propose to do that?" David Brinkerhoff, futilely trying to shove sopping hair out of his eyes. _And his foot in his mouth._

It looked like they only had one reasonable option. _Better the danger we know than the moor we don't. _Ginny shouted loudly enough for everyone to hear. "What about the Forest?"

Immediate opposition from Frances Robynson, a small, stocky girl who hid behind glasses and kept her dark hair boyishly short. "We're not allowed in there."

"Do you see a school anywhere? We won't go far in, and at least we'll be sheltered a bit from the rain." Sarah's support wasn't a surprise; Travis, Kelsey and Weyland, Gryffindors all, were nodding as well.

"Come on, let's go."

Another Ravenclaw spoke up, a tall brunette who dwarfed all the other students in their year. "This isn't a good idea."

"What's our other choice, Wanda? Stay here and soak?"

"Hey, what's that?"

Ginny's eyes followed Ryan Bathurst's finger out into the marsh; his eyes were the sharpest in the group. _A light?_

Bobbing and glowing warmly, like comforting rays from a carried lantern, she could only just see it past the curtains of rain.

"There's someone else out here." Travis Cole, fellow Gryffindor who had been the first to head toward the Forest. He sounded relieved. "Maybe they can show us someplace to -"

"Hold on a second and just _think_, will you?" Laurence Astley was typically Ravenclaw in that he snapped at people he thought were being stupid on purpose. One hand waved at the drenched, desolate landscape. "This – this moor is an illusion. Hogwarts really is around here somewhere, probably back the way we came. So what's that?"

"Maybe it's a light from the castle," suggested Frances hopefully. Both arms were hidden in her robes as she pulled them tight around herself, shivering against the chill wind. Ginny's own feet were getting mired in the sucking mud that had been solid ground only a few minutes ago.

"It's _moving,_" Luna pointed out, her vague demeanor seemingly washed away by the rain. Of them all, she seemed the least concerned with the fact that she was soaked through.

_Good point._ Unease curled in Ginny's belly. She _knew_ this feeling; the same one she'd had the night of the World Cup, with the mob – _Stop it. It's not the same. You're in control, now._

_And I know I've seen that light before - _"Will o' the wisp!" Ginny blurted.

"What?"

But memory had already sparked in the others' brains; the Ravenclaws more quickly than her own House, but still.

"It's corpse candles," gulped Wanda Hudson, hazel eyes wide and locked on the bobbing light. "And you wanted to _follow -_"

"Look, there's another. Two more." Nervousness in Ryan's shaking finger. "That's three, now."

Raw fear radiated from Wanda; the tall girl shifted away from the lights, feet squelching in thick mud. "We should get away from them."

Travis scoffed. "It's just an _illusion_, remember? It's supposed to work on Muggles, not wizards."

"It's working on us," Luna said, calmly squeezing out a swathe of hair before tucking it under her robes. "Unless you can see Hogwarts while the rest of us can't."

"What do you know," Ginny heard Travis hiss under his breath. "_Loony_ Lovegood. Geez!" He slapped at a mosquito.

"Wait a minute," said Laurence, consternation in blue eyes that bobbed over each of them, counting. And coming up one short. "Where's Weyland?"

The chestnut-haired Gryffindor was nowhere to be seen.

_

* * *

_

Babbling Beverage . . . Backfiring (see Jinxes) . . . Bagman, Ludo (see Quidditch & / Magical Games and Sports, Department of) . . . Bamboo, uses . . . Banishing (see Charms) . . . Bank, Gringotts . . . Baobab, uses . . . ah! Barriers, magical. T16.J36x1107.

Maybe this would at last yield some results. Searching 'walls, magical' had been useless, and 'protections' had given her everything from _Expelliarmus_ to the Restricted Section. But Hermione knew the Hogwarts Library card catalog better than the back of her hand.

_And . . . it's on the top shelf. _Staring upward, Hermione heaved a sigh. _Wingardium Leviosa_ only really worked when you had a specific target in mind. She went searching for the stepstool.

A few short minutes later, on eye level with well-dusted spines, she started scanning titles for anything that looked like it might be useful.

Keep It Out! Magical Walls, Wards, and Barriers Against Pests. _Maybe not._ But she hadn't thought to search under 'wards' yet. The next three books were all in the same vein, before brown eyes came to Shielding For Squibs. _That doesn't look very promising, but it wouldn't hurt to skim._ A Guide to Britain's Magical Barriers and Boundaries. Zen and the Art of Aversion. Hermione blinked at that one.

Spelles Fore Ye Prewention offe Intrusion, right next to Powerful Protections. _Oooh!_ And what looked like a misplaced copy of Hogwarts, A History.

_These look good. And maybe – _

Cradling the last five books, she hopped from the stool and nearly collided with another student. "Oh, sorry, I didn't see -"

Icy blue flicked over her in a freezing glare. White-blond hair scraggling over his forehead, Draco Malfoy sneered, grabbing up the step-stool. "Watch where you're going next time, Granger."

_Wha –_

Quick as that, he was gone.

Hermione frowned. _He really hasn't changed at all._ Malfoy'd been much less overtly nasty last year after she'd seen his run-in with Peter Pevensie. _He lost Slytherin one hundred points for that._

The whole incident had been unforgettable; Hermione grinned with the secret knowledge of how the Malfoy heir turned beet-red when embarrassed. _He wasn't going to stop being a jerk. At least we didn't run into him much last year. I hope the trend continues._

Spread out on a table, Hermione started at the indexes and chapter summaries, working forward. _Descriptions . . . nothing like that blue wall. I wonder if –_

Spelles fore Ye Prewention offe Intrusion had her eyes straining past archaic English and tiny print for almost an hour before she could safely conclude that it was all anti-burglar charms of the pre-sixteenth century.

Three hours and four books later, she was left with Hogwarts, A History, and no clues as to what type of magic Dumbledore had used to protect the students. The papers had been annoyingly ignorant of the whole incident, and she didn't have any other place to start. It looked like her only recourse was going to be the Restricted Section.

_Maybe it's time I asked to borrow Harry's Invisibility Cloak._

* * *

"Yes?"

"Professor Snape, could I talk with you for a minute?" Peering around the doorjamb, she could see black eyes flick up from the pile of parchment thickly stacked before him.

"Miss Needham. If this is about your assignment -"

"No, Professor. Well, not entirely." Taking his attention as permission, Cecily walked up to the desk. "You see, I was thinking about the assignment, and I -"

"Move," her Head of House ordered, turning back to his papers.

"Sorry?"

Snape waved a hand back at the classroom and the shivering student wielding a shaky scalpel over amphibious bodies. Cecily's lips shaped an 'o' as she got it. _Disemboweling horned toads – oooh, there's a whole barrel. Wonder what he did?_ Moving obligingly out of the Potions Master's line of sight on the hapless Gryffindor, Cecily grinned. "Anyway, I was looking up the Draught of the Living Death, and it looked like a variant on the Tranquility Tincture, and I was wondering if we'd be covering anything more of those types of potions in class."

All she could see was oily black locks; Snape's quill darted over parchment, leaving red scratches and a quick grade before moving on to the next. "Advanced medicinal potions? Those are too specialized for the Hogwarts curriculum."

Brown eyes narrowed. _Ooooh, I don't _think_ so! _"But the Tincture has many ingredients we're familiar with from the Strengthening Solution we brewed last year, and we already know how to extract two solutions and purify the -"

That got black eyes piercing up at her from a pile of assignments, Snape's expression blank as ever. "Those are several advanced potions. None of which I have taught in this class."

"I like medicinal potions," Cecily flared, a little defiantly. _No one ever said we couldn't do more research if we were interested._

"Do you. What do you know about Cuckoo pint?"

He wasn't giving her the attention it would take to flick lint from one immaculately black sleeve. Teeth ground; she unclenched her jaw. _Fine. I'll show you._ "Anything you want to know."

"Really."

_Great. Well, you wanted him to take you seriously._ Mum had always told her to be careful what she wished for. Cecily hadn't listened then, no reason to start now. "Cuckoo pint, also known as Lords and Ladies. Used alone as a vulnerary – to draw out abscesses and heal wounds. Powdered, it can be used as a catalyst for potions containing fennel, but is only effective when sifted into the potion in small amounts in a ratio of four-to-one to fennel, by weight. Also -"

"Tola Bona."

_Tola Bona – oh! _Cecily bit back a grin. "Tola Bona, also known as Smearwort, English Mercury, Mercury Goosefoot, Allgood, Fat Hen, and Fette Henne. Its primary name is Smearwort, coming from its use in poultices. Primarily used in heavily viscous potions or creams, boiled to extract the juices and then added to -"

"Feverfew."

"Many varied uses," Cecily's head tilted as she wracked her brain. "And its preparation for potion-use changes depending on what's being treated. It's pulverized and added to water with sugar and chamomile as a tea to reduce fever, typically. Treatment of arthritis involves finely slicing the petals and mixing them into the antidote for the Swelling Solution, and -"

"Stop."

Nothing, in that black gaze. _Beat you at your own game, didn't I?_ Cecily allowed herself a grin.

"You completely ignored the use of Smearwort in curing boils – a potion I would expect a first-year to be proficient in making. Feverfew is also an essential ingredient in the Pepper-Up Potion for curing the common cold; something that you, with your professed interest in medicine, should have noticed." Disdain curdled every word. Cecily felt shock start as a heavy tingling in her gut, rising upward to heat the space behind her eyes. "Your focus on each of these herbs entirely ignored aspects of magical use, centering on the physical. Whatever knowledge you might have gathered outside the assigned curriculum has been poorly memorized, and by rote, apparently."

A tear made it out before she realized she was crying. _No!_

"However," Snape's eyes were determinedly glaring at the Gryffindor, who was hunched over his barrel of toads, "given the state of the Hogwarts Library's Potions sections, such massive gaps in your knowledge are only to be expected."

The office wavered a little; Cecily blinked hotly. "Professor Snape -"

"Why are you still here, Miss Needham?"

Anger chased the last of the tears away. _That's it!_ "I want you to teach me."

"Your class is with the Hufflepuffs every Wednesday -"

"No," she cut him off, taking a determined step toward the desk and ignoring the sudden black glare. "You say I don't know enough, that my knowledge isn't adequate. So teach me."

"You want me to tutor you?"

He couldn't have sounded more shocked if she'd got down on bended knee and proposed. Cecily banished the wayward thought, meeting his eyes. _I want to become the best there ever was._ "You're the greatest Potions Master of our age, Professor Snape. I want to know everything you know. I want an apprenticeship."

_I don't think anyone recently has made their Head of House's jaw hang open in shock._ Cecily didn't let his impression of a stranded fish faze her. _Even though I wasn't going to ask until he agreed to tutor me . . . _Sometimes her mouth ran away with her.

"You . . . want an apprenticeship."

_Didn't you hear me the first time?_ "Yes." Not backing down now, not when she was _so close_ –

Gathering himself, Snape rose from behind cluttered oak. Took a breath. "You're in the beginning of your sixth year, Miss Needham. You have two more years of education before you will be eligible for an apprenticeship -"

"Before I qualify for a Ministry apprenticeship," Cecily corrected. "I checked. But there're no laws or regulations about private apprenticeships; only that they extend for a minimum of five years and that I pass government tests before being raised to Journeyman."

"This is hardly the usual procedure."

"So?"

Black eyes narrowed. Cecily didn't waste her time wondering what he saw when he looked at her; she was a sixth-year, from a relatively solid Wizarding family when it came to blood-status. Average height and passably pretty, with tight black curls, brown eyes, and the drive to succeed as a Slytherin. She saw it every day in the mirror. _So what else is new?_

"Do you have your parents' permission to enter into such a magically and legally binding contract, Miss Needham?"

Crisply folded parchment, waiting in her pocket for that very question. _He's considering it, then!_ Snape broke the seal, scanning the letter for a moment before setting the paper carefully off to one side.

"It's been years since I had an apprentice."

_Bad,_ she scolded her tongue, biting down to keep her next remark inside. _Don't blow it now._

"Probation," was the next word her potions teacher pronounced, black eyes hard as marble. "Four weeks. Then I'll consider taking you on for a full apprenticeship."

_Yes!_ "Thank you, Professor Snape." Try as she might, excitement still quavered the vowels, speeding her words along a bit quicker than usual. _So much for appearing professional -_

"Come back here at the conclusion of your afternoon classes tomorrow. I'll want to discuss broadening your knowledge, what your first assignments will be, and working around my schedule."

"Yes, sir."

"Is that all?" He was eyeing her warily, as if she might then demand that he perform a jig on top of one of the stone-topped tables in the next room. Cecily stifled a giggle. _Calm. Stay calm._ "Yes, Professor Snape."

"Good. Good evening, Miss Needham."

"Good evening, Professor."

_Walk. No running._ Calm, past the Gryffindor who was barely a third of the way through the barrel of horned toads. Hand on the knob, out of the dungeons and into the hall.

She made sure that oak panels swung securely closed behind her.

And pumped a fist into the air, giddy exultation flooding every vein and letting loose the war-whoop. _"Yes!"_

* * *

"The incantation is _Scourgify_." Hermione's wand was gently aimed at Neville's trembling right hand, the charm cleaning frog guts out from under his fingernails.

"What was it, cauldron number four?" Ron eyed his fellow Gryffindor, who even a morning later looked like he was about to collapse.

"Six," Harry winced. "Melted the bottom clean away."

"You know why Snape's in such a foul mood, don't you?" Though it was nothing compared to Ginny's anger a few days ago after her first Muggle Studies class. Apparently Professor Galway had pulled some impressive spellwork to leave them without wands and faced by a perilous bog – and then one of the Gryffindors had been caught by will'o'the'wisp, and they'd all had to go into the marsh to get him out. _Yikes._ Ginny was _still_ steaming at the ears over the way some of the Ravenclaws had tried to stay behind.

"Yeah," said Harry, jerking his mind back to the present. "Remus."

_Everyone knows Snape really wants the Dark Arts job._ Ron frowned; Snape was even more unpleasant than last year. _Probably because Lupin's the only one to have the job for more than a year since . . . _"How long's it been since anyone held the Dark Arts job for more than a year?"

"Forty years," Hermione answered.

Dean and Seamus muttered over that; most of the fourth-year Gryffindors had overheard, queued up as they were outside the classroom door, waiting for Professor Lupin to show.

Quick steps sounded against the stone; Ron looked up. _Huh. Guess he managed to get himself some new robes._ He knew patching spells better than Hermione, but steady income looked like it meant new clothes for their Professor.

There was amusement on Lupin's face as he took in the line of students whispering outside his door. Ron frowned; he'd seen Lupin's lips move, but couldn't hear –

The classroom door swung open, letting the first of the horde rush in. _Must've been the password._

"C'mon," Harry grabbed Hermione by one arm; Ron took the other, ignoring a little flush of heat that started where their hands joined. "Quick, or we won't get decent seats."

Ron bounded forward, dragging Hermione, and managed to claim three seats right in front of Lupin's desk before anyone else managed to grab them. _Brilliant!_ Slipping into his chair, Ron's copy of The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection thudded to the desk.

In the corner of his vision, he saw Hermione roll her eyes. Ron stuck out his tongue. As soon as the scuffling of bags being opened and shut died down, their Professor spoke. "Welcome to Defense Against the Dark Arts," he smiled. "It's good to see you all again this year. As I hope you all remember," one brown brow quirked in their direction, "last year we covered the defenses against a wide variety of magical creatures."

There was a general murmur of assent. _Boggarts, Red Caps, hinkypunks, grindylows, Kappas, werewolves, poltergeists . . . _Merlin, but it was great seeing Peeves get his!

Lupin continued, an intent determination on his face that Ron remembered from the World Cup. "This year, we will be studying what wizards can do to one another. The School Governors have decided that as fourth years, you're ready to move on to more advanced forms of Defense – namely, curses." Disgust filled their professor's voice.

"The Governors?" muttered Hermione, a frown creasing her forehead. "What's that got to do with -" One hand went up, with a definite decisive air.

Ron rolled his eyes. _Here we go again._

"Yes, Hermione?"

"Professor," Hermione leant forward in her seat. "You said the School Governors had decided. Is this – because of what happened at the World Cup?"

Breath caught in Ron's lungs; he wasn't the only one to suddenly sit up, attention riveted to the front of the room. _Bloody hell. She's right!_

Lupin's face went blank, unreadable. "No," he said evenly. "As you are all aware, the teaching position for this class has been in flux for the past fifty years or so. After about ten years of continuously switching professors, the Governors set up teaching plans for each year to make sure that as students you received a rounded education. You are due to start learning proper dueling defenses this year. However." Tiny lines drew tight around blue eyes. Lupin's hand rubbed gently against the spines of several books resting on his desk. "Across the years, the various professors have had a certain amount of . . . latitude . . . in what they've been able to teach and how they have gone about doing so."

Ron blinked. _Latitude? _Quirrell had been an idiot for all he was sharing a body with You-Know-Who, and Lockhart was an ass. _I guess you could call it that . . . _

"The recent events you mentioned, Miss Granger, mean that the Governors have become stricter in enforcing those guidelines." Blue eyes scanned the room. "Miss Brown, Miss Patil. Put that away, please."

Lavender jumped and blushed, Parvati close behind. The two of them had been whispering over the Bat's latest assignment – their Divination horoscopes.

Ron smirked. _Real smooth._

_Wait a minute. When's that due?!_ Gulping, he wrote off any free time he might have had after dinner tonight. _Bloody hell._

Lupin's voice was clipped now, and Ron pushed his unfinished assignment to the back of his mind. "Due to the reappearance of Death Eaters at this past World Cup, I have been instructed to take this defense a step further. You are not supposed to learn about illegal Dark curses until sixth year. But we will be overviewing them today, and covering them in more depth next week."

Moving to the other side of his desk, their professor asked the first question of the day. "Does anyone know which curses are most heavily punished by Wizarding law?"

Hermione's hand shot up; Ron frowned. _What was that one that Dad was on about? Imperative, or no, it was Imperial?_ His hand went up as well, and Lupin nodded at him.

"Ron?"

"Er," he said tentatively, still grasping for the curse's proper name. _Got it! I think._ "My dad told me about one . . . Is it called the Imperius Curse, or something?"

"Yes," Lupin nodded, leaning against the desk's rounded corner. "Your father would know about that one. The Imperius Curse," he eyed them in a way that told Ron he should be reaching for a quill. "One of the three Unforgivable curses. This particular spell gives the caster control over their victim, body and mind."

Scratching filled the air; Ron blotted his own quill, scribbling notes quickly as Lupin continued. "_Complete_ control." Grave silence crowded into the room, adding weight to the air. Ron worked his tongue, trying to swallow. "During the Dark Lord's rise in the 1970's, it was difficult to know who to trust. Even if someone wasn't a traitor, they could be under the Imperius – and many witches and wizards were. The Ministry's procedures were inadequate to tell who was acting of their own free will and who was under the curse. And it extended further than the casters just forcing their victims to become unwilling spies. On two separate occasions, victims of the Imperius were forced to torture and kill their own families as sport for watching Death Eaters."

Someone gasped – Parvati, Ron saw. Hermione's face was leeched of color, and Harry's mouth a thin line. He had to force unwilling fingers to loosen their grip on his quill as bile rose in his throat. _Merlin._

But horrific as it was, it made sense. _Commanding fear, demonstrating the power He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named holds – and building the image higher and higher._ Easier to detach and think of it that way than to think about Bill and Charlie and Ginny, Mum and Dad, Fred and George and Percy.

"But this curse can be fought." One hand rubbed briefly at a gray-flecked temple; Lupin reached for his wand and flicked rowan toward the board. Notes appeared; Ron checked them against his parchment and scratched out a misspelled word. _Fought? How?_ "It takes strength of character, but more than that it takes will, purpose and determination. The incidents I just mentioned occurred only twice in the past thirty years – and both times, the curse was employed by Voldemort himself."

A shiver brushed the ranks of students at the Dark Lord's name.

_Wha –_ Jaw brushing his collar, Ron popped his eyes back into their sockets. _What does he think he's –_

"It is more a battle between the strength of the caster and the victim than anything else." Their professor's face was quite calm, and Ron managed to scramble past his shock enough to take down the words writing themselves in shimmering lines across the chalkboard. "Does anyone know another one?"

Movement.

Ron turned to look and saw, past Hermione's hand that was _always_ up, fingers pointed hesitantly toward the ceiling. _Neville? He never tries to answer questions in class. _Well, except Herbology. _Huh._

"Yes, Neville?"

"There's one. The Cruciatus Curse." His fellow Gryffindor's voice was low but distinct.

"Very good," Lupin nodded, but the grim expression on his face didn't match up. _I'm not going to like this, am I?_ He'd never seen Lupin look that grim, not even when they'd thought they'd failed to catch Pettigrew at the end of last year. Ron tried to brace himself.

"The Cruciatus Curse is the most potent torture curse known to modern witches and wizards. It allows the caster to inflict agonizing pain on their victim, acting on every nerve ending across the entire body for immediate effects. It also creates somatic pain, emanating from muscles, bones, tendons and cells." Lupin's voice was scarily clinical; Ron kept his eyes on his paper. "The internal organs are affected as well, leaving the victim experiencing a deeper-seated visceral pain for hours after the curse is lifted. Luckily, these lingering symptoms can be alleviated through an Anti-Cruciatus potion."

Ron winced in the direction of his notes. _Ouch. That's bloody awful._

"The Cruciatus Curse is like the Imperious Curse in several ways. Firstly, the power and emotions of the caster have a significant effect on the spell, magnifying or diminishing its impact. Secondly, the curse can be resisted."

_No way._

"Resisted?" Harry's voice, a frown in it.

Professor Lupin nodded, gray eyes serious. "It is, of course, very difficult, but in theory not much different from resisting the Imperius Curse. There are other ways around it, as well – resisting or repulsing the curse takes strength of will, which can be fueled by powerful emotion. But the Cruciatus is does not remove volition as the Imperius does – it aims to incapacitate the victim. The curse can be dodged or blocked, and it is even possible to work through it. Above all," Lupin's voice was the sternest they had ever heard it. _"Do not drop your wand."_

A tense moment passed. Ash pressed comfortingly into his palm; Ron glanced at the board and swallowed. _How can people _do_ that to each other?_

But he'd known ever since first year that You-Know-Who didn't care what he did. He'd kill a kid, just to win.

"Does anyone know the last curse?"

For the third time, Hermione's hand went up. This time, it shook just the smallest bit. "_Avada Kedavra_," spilled from her lips in a whisper as Lupin nodded in her direction.

Ron glanced uneasily her way. _You had to say the incantation?_

"The Killing Curse." Lupin folded his arms tightly. "It is the most efficient and Dark means of murder available to anyone who dips into the black magics. It literally breaks the bond between body and soul, forcing the victim into the Realm of Death. It is the worst of these three Unforgivable curses, and distinctive because of the bright flash of green light it emits. There is no known way to counter or block the Killing Curse, though it can be dodged like any other spell if the target is quick enough."

_Blimey._ Ron could see sweat shining on Seamus' face, and Dean's eyes were wide. Harry – _Harry?_ A frown creased his forehead. Under shaggy black bangs, Harry's face was pale and empty, almost like when the Dementors had searched the train –

"These are widely considered to be the three worst curses available in the arsenal of Dark magic, though there are many, many others. What distinguishes these curses is that they take a good deal of magic and, unfortunately, practice, to get the desired result." Disgust was loaded in every syllable; their Professor's usually kind face was smooth as stone. "Use of an Unforgivable on another human earns the caster an automatic life sentence in Azkaban."

The room was then silent for so long that he risked lifting his eyes from his parchment. Lupin was gazing at them all, and Ron could see that everyone looked as unnerved by this as him.

"Very well," their Professor said quietly. "I think that's more than enough for one day. You're dismissed early. Please read the first fifteen pages in the text for next lesson."

Scooping his book back into his bag, Ron shoved away from his chair. _No wonder Fred and George were on about this._ It was the most blunt discussion he'd ever heard of –

Over the rustling of papers and the door, Professor Lupin approached, stopping by Neville for a short moment before turning to his best friend. "Harry, I'd like to speak with you a moment after class."

_Wha-_

Then Ron saw dull green eyes, and thought he knew why. Swallowing hard, he tugged Hermione out when she cast a sharp look at Neville, who was shivering just a bit. The other boy held a horror deep in his eyes. Ron paused for a minute, swallowing when Harry and Neville showed no signs of leaving.

At his elbow, Hermione sighed. "Come on," she shut the door carefully behind them. "Let's go."

_

* * *

_

Casual. Nothing to see here.

He kept his head level, walking as if he had every right to be leaving the Great Hall early. He'd managed to slip Crabbe and Goyle with the excuse of going to the library.

_They wouldn't be caught dead in there._

He might sneer about their ability to read, but those two were more cunning than they let on. _Let them think I underestimate them._ Dodging a giggly group of Ravenclaws, Draco slipped as quickly as possible down a side corridor.

Dim light and dank stone relaxed him, even as one hand drifted into the small kit concealed in folds of black cloth. Snape had been sitting at the teachers' table in the Great Hall, and for once had been involved in conversation – with _Edmund_ of all people. _As soon as the 'Muggle' proved himself worthy of Slytherin. . ._

The dungeon was unlocked, as expected. Draco stepped past the heavy oak doors, already pulling free the small packet of tools he would need to continue testing Snape's wards.

Hair prickled on the backs of his arms.

_Oh, no._

Magic tingled as it swept over his skin, the watching wards marking his presence. _Damn!_

A record-keeper.

Icy eyes scanned the room, but nothing _looked_ different. _Where would he put the focus?_ He couldn't do anything tonight except try to wipe his entrance from the ward's log before –

Shoes, ringing against stone. Muffled by the door, but –

_Coming!_

Draco darted toward the table and knee-level cabinet where he sat in class, stuffing away the kit as he did so. Two steps away, one –

"Mr. Malfoy."

Fingers clenching on the open cabinet door where his cauldron, scales, and ingredients were stored, Draco stood up smoothly. "Professor Snape."

Black eyes tried to probe his own, but Draco kept his gaze fixed in the middle of Snape's chest; giving the appearance of eye contact without leaving himself open to it. _Voldemort's greatest prize – the Occlumens who could fool even Dumbledore._ One of the many things he'd never been meant to hear, but Draco put the knowledge to good use.

"I expect you have a reason for your presence in my classroom after-hours?" Little leniency in that voice, but more than any other student could expect. _And why is that?_ Draco thought bitterly. _My father, and the Lord you both share?_

No hate – not now. He couldn't afford it tainting voice or expression. "Yes, sir." Draco held up a sheaf of parchments, hidden behind the low door by his foot. "I forgot my notes in my locker during last class."

One black brow arched. "Is that so."

_He suspects._

Panic churned his belly; Draco resisted the urge to swallow. Snape might be dangerous, but he wasn't Father – though trouble here would lead back home with enough force to destroy him.

_Calm. _And the arrogance of pure breeding saved him again; Draco hefted his bag onto the table, replacing the papers from where he'd carelessly jerked them free only seconds before. Straightened to face Snape once more. "May I be excused, sir?"

"Go." Smooth and low, his Head of House's voice still carried across the deathly stillness of the lower dungeons. "I trust I will not find you in here again outside of class?"

Draco was at the door. "Of course not, sir."

_You won't catch me again._ Determination lined every stride he took away from this setback. _I swear it._

* * *

Books from their dormitory in hand, Ron's steps were loud as he crossed the common room to a long, flat table near the fireplace. _Perfect for chucking scrap homework in._ Which was why Harry'd grabbed it, even if it was too hot for a fire.

Weight pressed on the back of his chair. "What's that?"

Reading, Harry kept one eye focused across the room on Neville; whenever he was casting, it was best to keep some attention free for whatever might come from his direction. "A letter from Sirius."

"Another one?"

Harry grinned. "Yeah. He said he'd write me regularly. I didn't think he meant every day." _Especially after today's Defense class . . . _After giving Neville a few Herbology textbooks and several soft words that made his fellow Gryffindor nearly glow with pride, Remus had suggested that he talk to Sirius about it.

_I'm fine._ _I am._

"What's he say?"

"Just that he's trying to find a new house-elf for Grimmauld Place," thin shoulders shrugged, green eyes scanning down. _Battles with Kreacher._ Harry swallowed a snicker. "And Aurors are investigating the wizard who showed up at the Welcome Feast. He says to check tomorrow's _Daily Prophet_."

"Nothing else?" Plopping into the seat opposite him, Ron blinked at the owl digging it's talons into the plush arm of Harry's chair.

Harry shrugged. _Well, yeah, but it's – it's personal stuff._ Ron couldn't possibly –

"Of course he can't talk about it," Hermione didn't even glance up from her Transfiguration. "He works for the DMLE, Ron. You know that."

_Oh. Right._

Quill between his fingers, Harry reached for a clean sheet of parchment as Ron grumbled over Unfogging the Future.

_**Dear Sirius,**_

_**Thanks for your last letter. Everything's going fine so far, though Professor Trelawney tried to predict my death **_**again**_**, and Potions was horrible as usual. Between the Triwizard Tournament and the impostor who showed up at the Welcome Feast, it feels like everyone's forgotten about what happened at the World Cup. I've heard a lot of people talking about trying to get into the Tournament. It sounds exciting, but I still can't believe they cancelled Quidditch!**_

_**Remus' class is still the most interesting, though our first topic is the Unforgivable Curses. I couldn't help remembering what I heard and saw because of the Dementors last year, though – Mum and Dad's voices, and that flash of green light – when Remus was talking about the Killing Curse. Neville wasn't too happy with the class either, but Remus talked to us after the lesson. You don't need to worry – I'm fine. **_

_**Remus told us about the new History of Magic professor over the summer, but we haven't had him yet. Classes were cancelled the morning after the Welcome Feast, and Hermione's worried that we're going to be behind all the Ravenclaws and Slytherins in our year.**_

_**Our first Hogsmeade weekend isn't until the first weekend in November. I was wondering about that too, since it's supposed to be closer to Halloween. But everything's all jumbled up this year because of the Tournament I expect. I'm really looking forward to seeing you then. **_

_**Good luck with Kreacher! I hope you find a new house-elf soon. **_

_**Harry**_

Folding up the letter and jotting down the address for Grimmauld Place, Harry turned to the white-and-brown barred owl gripping plush leather. Dark eyes regarded him solemnly.

"Hey Osiris," Harry reached out a careful hand, smoothing the feathers on the raptor's breast. "Take this to Sirius?"

Talons shifted; Osiris stretched out a leg sporting tiny feathers all the way down to one three-toed foot. A slender, curved beak gently nibbled at strands of his hair as Harry tied the letter to his godfather's owl. The bird waited politely for an arm to be held out, and then climbed on to be borne to a window. _He weighs less than Hedwig._ Osiris was a good deal smaller than her as well, though of average size, he supposed – nowhere near Pigwidgeon's miniature stature.

Harry waited until twilight swallowed up the ghostly feathers. _Can't put it off any longer._ Sighing, he headed back to the table where Ron and Hermione were bent over homework, and reached for Unfogging the Future.

An hour later, seventeen scraps of parchment were crumpled across polished wood, and more were scattered around the hearth. Harry's fingers found a crumpled ball that had bounced his way from Ron's mess of parchments, and pried the folds open. _Okay. Venus is retrograde. p(n) d(n) / (1.361)n × 0.2863 − 0.337. . . Um, right. _He reached for another parchment, crushed even smaller.

_r 1.5236365 (1 - 0.09342312) / 1 + 0.0934231 cos (244.921657) 1.57261067_

The rest of his parchment was full up with that jumble.

_So . . ._

No help for it. "I haven't got a clue what this lot's supposed to mean."

Ron ran his finger through his hair one more, standing orange strands on end. "Y'know, I think it's back to the old Divination standby."

"What – make it up?"

Hermione lifted her head out of her Arithmancy at that, and snorted. The look she shot them was very disapproving, but after last year she'd given up trying to get them to do Trelawney's homework properly.

_Purrrrl. _

Orange fur wound between Harry's ankles, then planted itself down by his foot and stared inscrutably up. Harry shook his head down at the cat. _It's no good, Crookshanks._ He was _not_ giving Hermione's pet a chance to jump up on the table and make a mess of everything. _Again._

"Next Monday," Ron scribbled, clearing scrap notes from the table with the sweep of one long arm, "I am likely to develop a cough, owing to the unlucky conjunction of Mars and Jupiter. You know her – just put in loads of misery, she'll lap it up."

Thick waves shook in disapproval, but Hermione didn't say anything.

"Right." His first attempt hit bright coals and caught almost immediately. "Okay . . . on Monday, _I_ will be in danger of – er – burns."

"Yeah, you will be. We're seeing the skrewts again on Monday."

Harry winced. _I'd forgotten about them._

"Okay, Tuesday. _I'll_ . . . erm . . ."

Unfogging the Future was bound to have at least a few suggestions. _Ah!_ "Lose a treasured possession," he suggested.

"Good one," said Ron, copying it down. "Because of . . .erm . . . Mercury. Why don't you get stabbed in the back by someone you thought was a friend?"

_Nice!_ "Yeah . . . cool . . . because . . . Venus is in the twelfth house." _Whatever _that's_ supposed to mean._ Dipping his quill again, Harry thought a second. _I could get in a –_

"And on Wednesday, I think I'll come off worst in a fight."

"Aaah, I was going to have a fight. Okay, I'll lose a bet."

A snicker sounded across from him. "Yeah, you'll be betting I'll win my fight . . ."

"What about a toothache?"

Ron flapped a dismissive hand. "Nah. Break a bone, Harry."

_Oh, eww!_ Gaping at the page, Harry made a deal. "If you lose an eye."

"That takes care of Thursday, then. I think I'll get poisoned on Friday."

"We have Potions Friday," Harry snickered.

"Which just goes to show how good I am at this prediction stuff," Ron was scanning the index of their text. "And then I suppose I could drown . . ."

"Sucked under by the giant squid?"

"Grindylows, more like."

"You two are hopeless." But Hermione was smiling.

Harry grinned back.

"You know she'll never know the difference," Ron snorted. Paused, one finger skimming down the page of Unfogging the Future. "Oh! Hey, I could get swallowed by a python!"

* * *

"What do you think?"

"I think it's a good thing Mum never heard about this." Fred scowled at the parchment. _Plan B._

_Lucky for him the Ministry's fire-calls were tied up after the Cup._ Were still tied up, even if they had a way to use the fire without all Hogwarts finding out.

_And the _last_ thing we need is Ron or Percy finding out and telling _anyone_, and it getting back to Mum somehow._ Because it would, _especially_ if Perfect Prefect Percy got wind of it.

"It might have been an accident." George didn't sound like he believed it either.

Fred kept his voice down; Gryffindor common room or not, it was getting late and the only people left were their younger brother, Harry and Hermione. "It was almost thirteen hundred Galleons." _No one collects thousands of Galleons in Leprechaun gold without knowing they're doing it. Even if he meant to pay us with real money. _"We'll let it sound like we think it was a mistake."

"Alright," his twin sighed. "'Dear Mr. Bagman' . . ."

Fred crouched lower, methodically cracking each knuckle and letting George's quiet words wash over him. _He's better at this kind of stuff anyway._ And did his best to keep the temper bubbling under his skin from erupting. _I'd send a Howler if we had two Knuts to rub together to pay for it. _

_Which we don't. Bastard!_

"Can't be confrontational," George was muttering, thoughtfully fluttering the feathered end of his quill across his nose.

"Tell him," Fred hissed, losing the fight against anger, "that we would like our full sum of one thousand, two-hundred seventy-eight Galleons, six Sickles and three Knuts. And that we want it immediately."

His twin wrote it, and looked over the words. George shook his head, scratching out the sentence. "No. That sounds like we're accusing him. Got to be careful . . ."

_Keep your voice down. Don't need to wake the whole House._ But the anger inside wasn't the useful kind that could be twisted into a prank or new product; it was the unrelenting burn of injustice._ At least it's my turn to lose my temper. _"Bloody well right we're accusing him!"

Pressure, squishing his toes.

"What!" Fred followed blue eyes as they flicked to the three finishing their homework by the fire.

"Not going to have a very good month, are you?" Hermione had one hand resting on yellow-orange fur. Sardonic humor lilted across easily to his ears, even though she was speaking quietly.

"At least I'm forewarned," Ron yawned.

"You seem to be drowning twice."

Fred _humph_ed, shoving back the younger voices that carried across the empty room. _They can probably hear us just as easily. Damn._

"Come on." George fought friction, shoving wooden chair legs across thick red carpet. "We're not going to get anything more done tonight."

"Tomorrow," Fred agreed. Blue locked on the half-finished letter George was carefully tucking away. "If we send it at lunch it won't get 'lost' in the morning delivery."

"Good idea. And if it does . . ."

Fred knew what his own face looked like when he had mischief on the brain, and he could see it in George's expression. An altogether wicked grin split his own anger right open. _Don't get mad. Get even._ "Yeah."

**

* * *

**

**A/N: **I'm not going to med school, therefore, while all the herbs abovementioned are medicinal, please don't take my descriptions on how and why to use them as anything but fiction generated in the depths of my mind. This is the realm of: Don't try this at home, folks!


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